The Streets of Laredo
by MaverickLover2
Summary: Bart Maverick took a bullet to save his brother's life. What will it take to bring him back to the land of the living? His father just may have the answer in the diary he carries with him.
1. Pappy

Chapter 1 – Pappy

It was hot and sticky, unusually so for a day in late June. These temperatures weren't typically felt until August, and even then there might be a welcome breeze with it.

There was no breeze this day. Bret Maverick stood nervously at the stage depot, waiting for the coach's arrival from Littlewood, Texas. His father and uncle were supposed to be on the stage, and his brother Bart should have been beside him, waiting to greet them. Instead, Bart was lying in Doctor Staley's back room, unconscious and in what the Doctor was calling a 'coma.'

He'd been shot in the chest, and the doctor still wasn't sure if the bullet had nicked anything vital. His heartbeat was erratic and his breathing shallow and labored, and the physician hadn't been able to discern an exit wound. There was massive blood loss and the doctor's hands were tied when it came to finding the bullet. The shooting had occurred yesterday, with Bart taking a slug meant for Bret. Jack Templeton had led an entire contingent of Rangers on a raid to incapacitate or destroy the group of radicals that wanted Texas to be an independent republic once more. Bart wasn't the only casualty.

Lee Maxwell, the head of the whole movement, was gone, as was his sister Julie. Bret had shot Maxwell in self-defense and Julie after she'd tried to get even with Bret. That one grated on him worse than almost anything; Julie hadn't been involved in the movement and only grabbed for her brother's gun after he and Bret exchanged gunfire. His feeling of remorse was tempered by the fact that it was Julie that shot Bart while aiming for him.

Tam Porter, the 'money man' for the group, was dead, as were Stefan Brotherly and Quentin Travers. Brotherly was the leader in Corpus Christi, Travers one of the most devoted supporters. Tommy Slade had escaped entirely; he'd been Lee Maxwell's ranch foreman until a year ago. There were almost twenty-five more members taken into custody in Laredo, and Rangers rooted out the majority of participants in Brownsville, Littlewood, San Antonio, Corpus Christi and Harlington.

Still, the capture or destruction of the majority of the Republic of Texas supporters was little comfort to Bret. He blamed himself for their accidental involvement with the group to begin with, and it was his life Bart saved by taking the bullet meant for the older brother.

Pappy had long ago invited 'his boys' to Laredo to play in the massive poker game that was taking place there, and they'd left Natchez, Mississippi to do just that. Then came the unintentional association with the radical secession group, and everything led to this moment. If Bret had his way, he'd be the one in the doctor's room and Bart would be here waiting for the stage.

The stage was late, and Bret finally lit a cigar to kill time while he waited. He welcomed and dreaded his father's arrival; the last interaction they'd experienced was sketchy at times, and he felt sure Pappy would blame him for Bart's condition. Hell, he blamed himself. Once again he'd failed to take sufficient care of his brother.

Unexpectedly he heard approaching footsteps and turned to see who was coming down the sidewalk. He inwardly groaned when he saw Jack Templeton. If there was anything that would make his explanation to Pappy any more difficult, it was the Ranger's involvement. Considering what Pappy thought of lawmen in general, and the Texas Rangers in particular, he was not looking forward to explaining anything to either of them.

"Bret, I thought I might find you here," Jack offered by way of a greeting.

"Stage is late," Bret responded.

"Yes, I know. There was an, ahem, incident in Littlewood."

"Why am I afraid it involves a Maverick?"

"Great instincts?"

"What did Pappy do now?"

"Actually, it wasn't your father. Bentley is your uncle, correct?"

"Uncle Ben? Ben's never in trouble. He's the voice of sanity in the family. What happened?"

"An incident with a drunken cowboy and a young lady. There was just a small delay while the cowboy was asked to spend thirty days in jail for assault."

"And Uncle Ben?"

"Oh, he's fine. But he will have a black eye by tomorrow."

"Great. And I have such good news for Pappy."

"Your brother, you mean? How's he doin' this mornin'?"

Bret sighed. "No change. The doctors 'weighin' his options'."

"Still no bullet?"

"No. That's what's got me most worried."

"Doc Staley's one of the best. We were real lucky to get him here, with all the gunfights in this part of the country. He'll get it out, wherever it is."

Bret blinked once or twice and cleared his throat. "Any sign of Slade yet?"

"The boys tracked him to Nuevo Laredo and lost his trail. I don't imagine he'll be back anytime soon."

"Thanks for the information, Jack."

"Let me know when somethin' changes for your brother, would you? And I'll let you know if we hear from Slade."

"Thanks."

He watched Templeton head back up the sidewalk. The man was alright, for a lawman. He heard a familiar sound and looked up to see the stage fast approaching. _'Easy Bret,'_ he told himself. _'Steady.'_ The driver pulled the horses up and Bret took a step back to give the passengers a chance to get off. First came the aforementioned young lady, and she was well worth getting a black eye over, even for Uncle Ben. Bret reached up a hand and helped her out, and she smiled prettily at him and said, "Thank you." She looked a lot like Ben's wife Abigail, long deceased, and Bret understood the rash act on Ben's part. Next out was an older lady, perhaps the young woman's mother or aunt, and again Bret lent a hand. Next came Uncle Ben, and Jack Templeton was right, Ben was going to have a glorious shiner. They hugged, and Bret pointed to Ben's eye and they both laughed.

Finally, Pappy alighted from the coach. At first he wore a big smile when he saw Bret, but it slowly faded as he looked around for a sign of his youngest son. By the time he got down to the sidewalk, there was a genuine concern on his face. "Where's Bart?" he asked, always fearful that something had happened to one or the other of them.

"Uh . . . . " was all Bret had time to get out before the next question came.

"Is he alive?"

There was no use putting it off, it would only get worse. "He was when I left."

"Ben, get the luggage, would ya? I'm goin' with Bret."

"Go, Beauregard," came his brother's reply.

"Where is he and what happened?" For whatever reason there was more than the usual amount of concern in his voice. He reached out a hand and gripped Bret's arm tightly. Pappy was a little thinner, a little frailer than he had been the last time Bret left Little Bend, and his oldest son wondered if he'd ever completely recovered from the pneumonia that had almost killed him. He carried a cane, a sure sign that old age was indeed beginning to have its way with the Maverick patriarch.

"He's at Doc Staley's and he was shot in the chest. Doctor hasn't found the bullet or an exit wound. He's in a coma."

"A coma? What does that mean? He's unconscious?"

"Yes, Pappy, that's exactly what it means."

"Has he been awake since he was shot?" Pappy stopped walking and stared at his firstborn.

"No."

"How'd it happen?"

"He was protecting me."

If Bret expected an eruption of some kind, it didn't happen. Instead, Beauregard started walking again and quietly asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Pappy. Bart saved my life."

Beau's head bobbed up and down. "Of course he did. Just like you've done for him. What happened to the man that shot him?"

"She's dead."

That stopped Pappy in his tracks. "She's dead? A woman shot him? A married woman?"

"No, sir, not a married woman. I killed her brother in self-defense, and she tried to get even."

"Who killed her?"

"I did."

Pappy reached out and rested his hand on Bret's arm again, and this time he held on as they walked. "Good."

They arrived at the doctor's office and Bret opened the door. Doc's assistant was out front, and she'd already seen Bret that morning. "Bret, this must be your father. Mr. Maverick, I'm Sammy Jo. Your son's in the last room through this door. Go right on back."

Pappy didn't wait for Bret; he stood up and squared his shoulders, then walked through the door. Sammy Jo gave Bret a wan smile and watched the younger man follow his father into the back room. She sighed and shook her head, then murmured to herself, "Poor men."

Bret caught up to Pappy quickly and put his hand on his father's back. There was a time Beauregard was taller than his oldest son, but that was no longer true. The closer they got to the room the smaller Pappy seemed to get. As he reached the last door to open, he hesitated and looked up at Bret. "Tell me he's gonna be alright."

"Of course he is, Pappy. He's a Maverick, after all," Bret lied, and then fervently prayed that it wasn't a lie at all.

Finally Beauregard reached for the doorknob, but his hand trembled so that his fingers slipped off and Bret opened it. The room was dark, and it took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the dim light. Bret already knew where everything was and could have walked in, but he waited for Pappy to step forward first. On the north wall there was a bed, and in that bed, very still and silent, lay the youngest Maverick.

The first thing that struck Pappy was how pale Bart was. He'd lost so much blood, and even from ten feet away his labored breathing could be heard. It was ragged and uneven, and loud. Pappy went to his son and immediately sat in the chair that Bret had vacated not long ago. He grasped one of Bart's hands in his, and it was so cold. Pappy gave a small chuckle and Bret asked, "What?"

In a hushed voice, Beauregard shared an old memory. "I remember how hot his hands were when he had scarlet fever." He looked up at his oldest. "Yours, too." He sighed, and Bret could hear the weight of the world in that sound. "It seems so long ago, now." He paused for a moment, and then said, "He can't die. It ain't right. A father ain't supposed to bury his children."

Bret struggled to say something, but he couldn't. No sound would come from his mouth, so he closed his hand on his father's and brother's. Long minutes passed before he could finally speak. "He won't die. I couldn't stand it if he did." And Bret put his head down on his father's shoulder and wept.


	2. Time is on My Side

Chapter 2 – Time is on My Side

Father and son sat in the room for almost an hour before Doc Staley came in. "Sorry it took me so long to get in here. I was down the street with a baby that took his sweet time being born."

"Doc, this is our father, Beauregard Maverick. Pappy, this is Doctor Staley."

The doctor reached out and shook the hand Beau offered. "Mr. Maverick, how are you doing?"

"I'll be fine when my boy opens his eyes and says hello."

"That's what we want to have happen."

Pappy looked up at the Doctor. "It has to, Doctor. I need both my boys."

Bret watched the doctor with glazed-over eyes. "Any change, Doc?"

Staley shook his head. "None so far, Bret. He's holding his own, that's about the best I can tell you."

"Made a decision yet?"

"No. I want to wait a while longer."

"Alright. We'll be here."

The doctor clapped Bret on the shoulder. "He's young and strong. And from the look of things, he's been through something like this more than once. Don't you give up on him."

Bret did his best to smile. "I won't Doc. Thanks."

"Mr. Maverick, you let me know if you need anything."

Beauregard nodded, and the doctor left and pulled the door closed behind him. "What's he waitin' for?"

"He wants to see if the bullet moves from wherever it's hidin'."

"By itself?"

"Yeah, it can do that."

"What if it does?"

"Then maybe he can get it out."

Pappy knew he wouldn't like the answer, but he had to ask the question. "And if it don't?"

A shake of the head accompanied Bret's answer, "I don't know, Pappy."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before anything else was said. "Can he hear us?"

"I don't know that either, Pappy."

Beau sighed. "Well, I'm gonna try." He turned back to his youngest son. "Bartley, it's your father. I guess ya know that. Doctor wants to wait to see if that bullet that's in ya moves any. You do whatever's best for you, son. You take your time an get it done right. Your brother an me's gonna be here till you're ready to come back, ya hear? We ain't goin' nowhere. I love ya, son, just like I love your brother. I'm mighty proud a what you done to save his life."

Bret stared at his father. It had been a long time since he'd heard Pappy sound this emotional. "Everything alright, Pappy?"

Beauregard stood up and walked to the other side of the room. "I gotta go to the hotel, son. You take me back down there?"

"Yes, sir," Bret answered out of habit. "You wanna go now?"

"Yeah, I do."

Bret got up and walked over to his father. "Need some help?" He offered his arm to Pappy, who took hold of it gratefully. They walked back out the way they'd come in, with one change – Pappy leaning heavily on his son. Sammy Jo was in the front office, and Bret turned his head to tell her, "We'll be back."

XXXXXXXX

Ben had checked them into one room, knowing that if Bart was as badly hurt as he must be, there was no need for two. Beauregard would be at the Doctor's office as much as his body would let him. Bret got Pappy upstairs and found the Maverick rooms were just one door apart.

Beauregard opened the door and found Ben looking like he was ready to leave. "Just gonna come find you."

Pappy nodded and Bret followed him into the room. "I had to get somethin'." He opened the suitcase that Ben had unpacked for him and pulled out a tattered, well-worn book.

"That's what we came back for?" Bret asked.

"Yup."

"What is it?" his son asked.

"Your momma's diary."

"Momma had a diary?"

"Yes, sir. I found it at the old house. She had it hid from me."

"When was the last time you ate, Beau?" Ben asked him.

"I don't know. This mornin', I guess. I ain't hungry."

"You know what the doctor told ya. Ya can't skip meals like that no more. Gotta get some food in your stomach."

Beauregard gave his brother a long glare. "Does that mean you'll stop pesterin' me?"

"Yes, it does. Bret, I'm sure you haven't eaten either." Ben watched the facial expression of his oldest nephew, and knew from the look he got that he was right.

"Uncle Ben – "

"No arguin' from either one of ya. You're gonna eat before we go to see Bart." Ben had a tone in his voice that spoke volumes. Neither his brother or nephew argued with him.

As they walked down the stairs, Bret asked his uncle a question that he didn't want the answer to, but knew he had to hear it. "Pappy been seein' Simon?" Simon Petry was an ex-friend and the Maverick doctor. Ex because he had taken Althea Taylor away from Bret the last time the gambler was in Little Bend.

"Yeah, on a pretty regular basis. Simon says he needs to eat regularly or suffer the consequences. And you know how Beau can be about food."

"I'm right here, you two ruffians. Don't talk about me like I'm not," Pappy insisted gruffly.

"If he wants to live to be an old, old man," Ben added.

"I'm already an old, old man," Pappy replied sarcastically.

"How's everything else?"

"Pretty good, considerin' what your Pappy and I did to ourselves in our youth."

"Are Simon and Althea married yet?" Bret asked his uncle hesitantly.

Ben nodded. He knew how much Bret had loved Althea, and how hurt he'd been when she chose Simon over him. "Last spring. Word is she's expectin' a baby. Sorry, boy."

Bret shrugged, determined to prove that was all in the past. "Can't expect much else, Ben. They both wanted kids. I hope they're happy together."

His uncle nodded again as they were seated in the dining room. "Seem to be."

What passed as lunch was ordered and consumed quickly, none of the three having any appetite to speak of. When they were finished, Beauregard looked at his two companions and asked, "Y'all happy now? I et, so don't be tellin' me again."

"Yes, sir," Ben answered his brother, and Bret suppressed a chuckle. His uncle and father sounded exactly like him and Bart. His stomach lurched at the thought of his brother and he was determined not to leave his brother's bedside again.

XXXXXXXX

There'd been no change since they left, good or bad. Ben took a few minutes to chat with Doc Staley before going in to see his nephew, and Bret let Pappy have some time alone with Bart prior to entering the room.

"Still cold as ice," was the first thing Pappy said when Bret came in.

"He lost so much blood, Pappy," Bret replied. "That's why he's cold. I'll get some more blankets from Sammy Jo."

"I got somethin' I wanna read to ya, son," Beauregard explained while Bret was gone. "I found your momma's diary in the old house, and I been goin' over it a little at a time. Found out some things I never knew, never even suspected. Your momma was real good at keepin' secrets. Made me work fer forgiveness she'd already graced me with. Yep, she was sure somethin' else, your momma. I know this'll be kinda slow goin', cause I'm gonna read it out loud to you an your brother, and he's gonna have a lotta questions for me. But it's time, boy, it's time. Time ya both hear what your momma has to say. She wasn't near as hard on me as she shoulda been."

The door opened and Bret re-entered the room. "Were you sayin' somethin', Pappy?"

"Just talkin' to your brother. After Ben leaves, I'm gonna be readin' this to the both a ya. You'll have questions, I'm sure. Stop me anytime ya want and I'll answer 'em as best I can. Alright by you?"

"Yes, sir, anything that'll make you happy."

Beauregard's eyes hadn't left Bart the whole time he was talking to Bret, but he turned to face his firstborn now. "There's some parts a this ain't real pretty. But I'm sure you probably figured that out a long time ago. There's places I'll have ta fill things in, or explain what was goin' on at the time, cause yer momma don't always do that. You okay with that?"

Bret nodded; whatever Pappy wanted.

The door opened again and Ben came into the room. He walked over to Pappy's chair and stood behind his brother, with his hands on Beau's shoulders, watching his youngest nephew struggle to breathe. "Doctor says he's doin' fine, considerin'."

Beauregard snorted a 'hmmph.' "It's the considerin' part that's got me tied up in knots. Considerin' what?"

Ben glanced at his other nephew. They both knew exactly what Doctor Staley meant, and so did Pappy. Even if he didn't want to acknowledge it. No more platitudes, or words of encouragement or comfort from Ben. They all well knew that time wasn't on Bart's side, and the longer this went on, the less likely he was to come out of it. But they held the belief that maybe, just maybe, if they didn't say it, the worst wouldn't happen, and Bartley Jamison Maverick would journey back to the arms of his family, where he belonged.


	3. The High Price We Pay

Chapter 3 – The High Price We Pay

Sammy Jo was the next to enter Bart's room. "Bret, there's a Jim Buckley out here that wants to talk to you."

"Tell him I'll be out in a minute, please, Sammy Jo."

"Buckley?" Pappy asked, trying not to sneer. "What does that dandy want?"

Bret didn't intend to go into a long explanation right now, at least not as long as Buckley was in the building. "He's involved in all this. Matter of fact, he actually helped. I'll explain later." Before Pappy could ask any more questions, Bret headed out the door and closed it behind him.

Buckley was nervously pacing in Doc's front office. "Your whole family's here?" he asked as soon as he saw Bret.

"Just Uncle Ben and Pappy. What do you want Buckley?"

"Slade got away."

"Yes, he did."

"Doesn't that worry you?"

"Nothing worries me right now except Bart."

"What? Oh, how is Bart?"

"Hangin' on by a thread."

"Hanging on – oh, that's right. Threw himself in front of you. It's a shame."

"What is, Buckley? That it wasn't me that got shot?" Bret asked. He was well aware that if one of the brothers was a friend of Dandy Jim's, it was the man lying in Doc's back room, and not the one standing in front of him.

"That's not what I meant, Maverick, and you know it."

"Believe me, Jim, I'd trade if I could."

For just a moment Buckley showed a trace of compassion. "It was the only thing he could do, Bret." And as quickly as it had come upon him, it was gone. "Tough luck, old boy. That's a lot of guilt to carry around if he dies."

"Get out, Buckley. And don't come back," Bret growled at Dandy, sounding exactly like Geoff Radson.

"I'm going, I'm going."

Bret stood in Doc Staley's outer office and watched to make sure that Buckley walked back towards the hotel and didn't linger around. He and Dandy had always had a fractured, if not adversarial, relationship, but for some reason there seemed to be much more tolerance, if not genuine affection, between Buckley and Bart.

Ben came out into the front office, looking like he usually did after spending a considerable length of time with his brother without a break. Pappy wasn't the easiest person in the world to live with – truth be told, none of them were – but Bentley seemed to have a higher tolerance level than the rest of them put together. Today, however, he looked like a man desperately in need of a break - or worse, a drink.

"Uncle Ben, you look worn out. Or worn down, I'm not sure which. Anything I can do to help?"

Ben almost collapsed into one of the chairs in Doc's office and looked up at Bret with weary eyes. "I wish there was, nephew. I think there's only one man that can, and I ain't sure he's listenin' right now. You're pa's a handful, Bret, even under the best circumstances, and this sure don't qualify. Buckley want anything important?"

Bret shook his head. "Not really. It was just Buckley bein' Buckley. The only thing I give him credit for is his friendship with Bart, which I will never understand. Why he puts up with that insufferable jackass, I have no idea."

"How's Buckley tied up in all this, anyway?" Ben asked, stifling a yawn.

"It only makes sense if I explain the whole thing. You got time?"

"I could use some coffee, Bret. Anyplace closer than the hotel?"

"Yeah, Uncle Ben, Tiny's, right around the corner. Let me tell Pappy we're gonna be gone for a bit."

Bret put his hand on his uncle's shoulder before turning and walking back into Bart's room. He found Pappy sitting with his head in his hands, and when Bret called "Pappy?" softly, it was a minute before his father answered.

"Yes, son?"

"Uncle Ben needs some coffee and I could use some, too. You want anything? We're goin' around the corner."

"I want a drink."

"What?" Bret wasn't sure he'd heard his father correctly.

"Nothin'. No, son, I don't want anything. You and Ben take as long as ya need. I'll be right here."

Bret could hear the pain, and despair, and fear in his father's voice, and could see it in his eyes. He knew there was only one thing that would alleviate all those emotions, and he knew he couldn't supply it. He closed the door as quietly as possible and went back to collect his uncle.

"Come on, Ben, he knows we're leavin'. I'll tell ya the whole, sorry story of how I got us into this mess."

XXXXXXXX

They sat in Tiny's and drank coffee, and Bret spun the gun runner's tale from the beginning to the current state. It took Bret an hour and three cups of coffee, and Ben sat patiently and listened to his nephew's tale of insanity and hubris among the recently depleted ranks of the Republic of Texas supporters. He nodded and murmured and asked the occasional question, but for the most part he listened, without judging or making unsolicited remarks.

The last thing Bret said was, "All he had to do was stay out of it, Ben. And he wouldn't be layin' there now like that, helpless and maybe . . . . . . " The word left unsaid was 'dying.'

Ben gave a soft chuckle and reached over to pat his nephew's hand. "He couldn't do that Bret, any more than you can stay outta his life. You're his brother, and he took a bullet for ya. Given the same choice, you'da done the same thing. And probably have."

"Why, Ben? Why do we seem to have this need to take care of each other?"

"That's because we're family, boy, and family looks out for each other. No matter the cost." Ben thought of his own life, and some of the choices he'd made, and sighed. "No matter the cost."


	4. Life at Seventeen

Chapter 4 – Life at Seventeen

Beauregard sat quietly with his youngest son for a long time before finally acknowledging that he could no longer keep his eyes open. It had been a protracted, trying day that began with the stage ride from San Antonio and ended with him in this chair. Sitting at Bart's bedside, once again waiting to see what the worst would bring, made him think back to the days when they were all younger, and he'd sat in a much more comfortable chair waiting for scarlet fever to take hold of his baby.

The wisest thing for him to do at this advanced age was go back to the hotel and get some sleep. That was the last thing he intended, however, so he simply laid his arms down on Bart's bed and rested his head on them. He was asleep in moments; sleeping in strange places and odd positions had never been a problem for him. How many times had he fallen asleep at Belle's bedside during her final and prolonged illness? How many times had he slept in one or another of the chairs in the house watching over Bart or Bret, especially after he almost lost both of them to the fever? He'd even fallen asleep on the floor next to Ben's bed, when the only reason he'd stayed was to calm his brother's fears and soothe his desire to run like a madman from the terrifying situation Bentley faced.

He slept until he heard the door open, and his oldest son walked into the room. Without opening his eyes he knew it was Bret; nobody else walked quite the same way. "You don't have to be quiet boy, I'm awake."

"Are you, Pappy?" he heard the voice ask, and it wasn't Bret's voice he heard. It was Bart's, and he knew he was still asleep and dreaming.

"No, I guess not."

"There's no need for you to sit here like this, Pappy," said the same voice. "I'm not sure I'm comin' back to that body."

Beauregard raised his head and turned to see what the voice looked like. It was Bart, tall and healthy looking, but there was something odd about the man he saw in the room with him. The figure was vapor thin and spectral; there but not real.

"You have to come back, Bartley," his father insisted.

"Why? Nothin' for me here."

"Your brother's here, and your cousins and uncle. And I'm here."

"Nobody that needs me."

"That's not true," Pappy huffed. "I need you."

"Oh?" the voice asked. "Since when?"

"Since the day you were born. When your momma put you in my arms and you opened those eyes and looked right at me. And every moment since then."

"Hmmm. Well, that's somethin' to think about, ain't it?"

Before any more could be said, Beau heard the footsteps for real this time and raised his head. His oldest son was standing beside him, Bret's hand on his shoulder, and his youngest son was lying in the bed, unchanged. "I was dreamin'."

"Yeah? Good dreams or bad dreams?"

"Bart dreams," Beau answered.

"Oh, that kind."

"Where's your uncle?"

"He went back to the hotel, Pappy. He's as worn-out as you are. Why don't you go and take a nap?"

A Maverick head shake followed. "Nope. I been waitin' for you to get back so's I could read your momma's diary to the two of you, and that's just what I'm gonna do."

Bret knew he wasn't going to win in an argument with his father, so he didn't try. "Whatever makes you happy, Pa."

Beauregard straightened and picked up the book he'd brought back from the hotel. "I'm gonna be skippin' a lot a the early stuff, and just start the night . . . . . well, you'll see. Remember, these are your momma's words, not mine." He cleared his throat and found the page he wanted.

 _June 24_ _th_ _– It was another day of unbearable heat, and Grace had to add to it by attempting to bake cookies. As usual, she came to me for help and I obliged. Someday she'll learn to do things by herself, but for now . . . . ._

 _June 25_ _th_ _– Daddy brought home another of his friends this morning and put us out of our room hours before sunrise. Never saw the man before, and I'm not certain which one was more inebriated, daddy or his friend. I think the name was Maverick, but I'm not sure. He was kind of old, as old as Daddy, at least, but there was something about him . . . . . today's gonna be a long day, and after everything that happened with us trying to go back to sleep in daddy's room, both of them are sick!_

 _I told Daddy not to eat at places he hadn't been to before, but heaven forbid my father listen to me. Now Grace and I have to pay the price – no sleep and two excuses for men sick as dogs. Grace rushed in to help daddy, so I get to tend to our 'guest.' Why can't I find somebody to marry and get out of here?_

 _June 27_ _th_ _– Well, at least Mr. Maverick has stopped being ill. And he is charming, although I'm not going to let him know I think that. He's older than daddy, for heaven's sake! But kind of adorable, in a different sort of way._

 _July 1_ _st_ _– Sorry, diary, it's been a few days since I've had a chance to write. Mr. Maverick, or Beauregard as he insists I call him, is hysterically funny. And rather enamored of me. I'm flattered, I think; he's been fun to talk to. Grace seems to be a flirty little thing when she's around, and Beauregard always tells me how disappointed he is when I don't come in to visit, but send Grace instead. I wonder how long he's going to stay here?_

 _July 4_ _th_ _– Today was a day of celebration, and games and dancing and eating all day long. Daddy and Beauregard seem to have recovered nicely from their bought with whatever they ate and raved all day about the food that Grace and I prepared. There was a dance this evening at the Baxter's barn and Beau took me! Not only that, the man can dance. The more I'm around him, the more I see how handsome and elegant he really is, not awkward and clumsy like the boys that keep pestering me. He's gentle and tender, and he knows everything about everything! He's moved back to his hotel room, and when he brought me home from Baxter's he kissed me! If that's what a kiss is like, I want more of them. His mustache tickles, but that was a small price to pay for my first ever grown-up kiss. What's happening to me?_

 _July 16_ _th_ _– I don't know where to start. It's been almost two full weeks since the celebration, and I've been so busy I've had no time to write. Beauregard comes to see me nearly every night, and we've done things I never dreamed of. He tells me stories, and brings me presents, and, most important, he listens to me! Not just like Jimmie Franklin or Tommy Jenkins, he actually hears what I have to say. He asks my opinion on topics I've never discussed with anyone else. We've been to elegant restaurants and tiny cafés, and he's taught me all about good coffee and fine wines. My head is spinning with everything I've learned._

 _Best of all are the times we just sit and listen to the crickets chirp on the porch or in the buggy. Beau's kisses are so soft and exciting. They make me have these feelings I've never had before. Every morning I wake up smiling, and I go to bed at night the same way. I cooked supper for us all again last night, and I've never seen a man with an appetite like that before I met Beau. He's lean and compact, and I don't know where he puts all the food and never gets fat. He raves about everything I make, no matter how simple the meal. And I thought he might lose his mind when I served my Pecan Pie!_

 _I don't know where we're headed, but I've come to care an awful lot about this man. I'm going to be eighteen next week, and he's dropped hints about taking me to dinner to celebrate. Landy's is the name of the place, and it sounds beautiful! I can't wait to see it with Beauregard. I can't wait to see Beauregard!_

"Sounds like you made quite an impression on her, Pappy," Bret remarked once his father stopped reading.

"Nowhere near as big an impact as she made on me. I loved your mother from the first time I ever saw those sparklin' brown eyes. And I think she knew it. I never felt that way about anyone I'd ever met before – and I'd met and romanced plenty. Isabelle was different. She was everything a man could ever want in a woman and more than I had any right to expect. And she was drivin' me outta my mind. This wasn't a saloon girl or an upstairs girl. This was a graceful, beautiful flower just beginnin' to open, and I wanted to be there for every moment she breathed, to watch her grow and blossom into the woman I knew she was gonna be. And that meant only one thing – I had to marry the girl."


	5. I Do?

Chapter 5 – I Do?

"But how did you know you had to marry momma?"

Beauregard thought it was a reasonable question – for someone that had never been in love before. But his oldest son had been in love – at least once that Pappy knew of. Still, he answered it truthfully. "I couldn't imagine spendin' one more day without her. I wanted to see her eyes in the mornin', and hold her in my arms at night. I wanted to whisper in her ear, and kiss those perfect lips, and tell her every bad joke I'd ever heard. I wanted to breathe her in every minute of every day. And I wanted to do it until the day I died. Haven't you ever felt like that, son?"

Bret's answer was little more than a whisper. "No."

Before Beau could say anything else there was a slight stirring in the bed, and all attention was immediately focused there. "Bartley?"

A barely audible sound came from his son, and Beauregard pulled himself to his feet and leaned over the body. "Bartley, it's Pappy. Can you hear me?" he whispered. Another noise of some kind was heard, not much louder than the first. Pappy sat back down quietly before turning to Bret. "Did you hear him?"

"I heard him, Pappy."

Beau reached over to the bed and patted Bart's hand. "He's not gonna leave us, Bret. He's not gonna leave us."

The two men sat as quietly as possible, for the next half-hour, waiting to see if there were any more signs of life forthcoming. Finally, Beau looked over at Bret and resumed their earlier conversation. "I don't know how else to describe it, son. Me needin' to marry yer momma. I never felt that way before, and I've never felt it again since we lost her. There was only one woman in the world for me, and I'd found her. I took her to dinner for her birthday, and several times after that, to Landy's. I finally got up the nerve to ask her father for her hand in marriage. Jeremiah might have been against it, but he never said so. He gave me his approval, and I planned another dinner at Landy's, with Crawfish gumbo and champagne. I need to go back to your momma's words, son."

Beauregard lovingly picked up Belle's diary and began to read.

 _August 19_ _th_ _– What a magical night it was tonight. Once again Beau and I went to Landy's for dinner. The rogue had already made arrangements for our food, which consisted of Crawfish gumbo, champagne that made my head spin, and Creole Pecan Pie. I was absolutely stuffed and Beau ate almost twice what I did. Then he drove down that beautiful little lane that we've visited several times and asked me to marry him!_

 _Bless his heart, he stuttered and stumbled his way through it, and I teased him miserably before I accepted. If Beau'd had his way we would have married the next day, but I told him I needed a week to plan and get ready, and he understood. You should have seen his face when I told him it had to be in church. But he swallowed whatever misgivings he had and agreed. Then we kissed, in a way we'd never kissed before, and I felt it all the way down to my toes. I will never forget his words that night. "I love you, Belle Grayson, and I will until the day I die." And I believe he means them._

 _August 26_ _th_ _– Our wedding day. Grace is as nervous as a cat. You'd think she was the one getting married instead of me. My dress is simple and peach colored – Mrs. McNulty only had one in her shop that fit me, and this is it. I added some lace at the neckline and am wearing a string of pearls that belonged to my grandmother. Grace gave me a lace handkerchief that she'd embroidered, and daddy will pin my mother's brooch on my dress; then we'll all pile into the buggy and drive to the Sacred Congregation Church. And in a short while I will no longer be Isabelle Grayson, but rather Isabelle Maverick._

 _September 3_ _rd_ _– This is the first chance I've had to write. The wedding was lovely, with Grace and Daddy there, and Beauregard's brother Bentley and his wife Abigail in attendance. Abby is a sweet and lovely, if frail, woman. I blush from head to toe when I think about our wedding night – or rather, wedding afternoon and night. As soon as we'd said 'I do' Beau picked me up and carried me to his buggy, and my feet never touched the ground again until I got out of bed hours later to get a drink of water._

 _He is everything I ever wanted, and more than I could have possibly imagined. All I'd ever heard of marriage was 'duty' and 'obligation.' It's none of that. It's glorious and exciting, and thrilling beyond anything else on earth. I could not even begin to describe our lovemaking, even if I had the words. All Beau has to do is touch me and I melt into him. I cannot imagine anything more perfect, even heaven._

 _September 22_ _nd_ _– It's still hot and humid, and Beauregard keeps talking about us going to New Orleans. He promises the heat is more tolerable there and thinks his poker playing will be better if we move south. I don't want to go; it's not that I mind leaving Grace so much, but I would miss everything I've known my whole life. And, of course, Daddy._

 _September 23_ _rd_ _– We had our first quarrel tonight, and I never want that to happen again. Beau is determined that we should head south, and he actually raised his voice to me when we disagreed. I must see Daddy and talk to Grace; I'd like their opinions on the matter._

 _September 24_ _th_ _– That's settled; we leave for New Orleans on Friday. I went home to talk to Daddy and found him out playing poker, so I had a talk with Grace. All she could chatter about was how perfect Beauregard is, and how she wanted to find someone exactly like him. My own sister made me profoundly uncomfortable. That's all it took, we're going to New Orleans._

 _October 27_ _th_ _– We've been here almost a month and Beau is restless again. I think it's because he misses traveling and loathes staying in one place all the time; he insists that's not it at all. I've noticed a definite change in mood, and even when he wins big at poker he's not happy. I think he should take a trip and go to Biloxi for a while. It would give me a chance to see more of the city if he was away. I love Beauregard, and I love spending time with him, but when we're together Beauregard doesn't want us to get out of bed._

 _Undated entry – I never thought this could happen. Beauregard has been gone almost four weeks, and I am now on my way to Natchez to rescue my husband from the clutches of my sister Grace and send her scurrying back to Baton Rouge. As I'd suggested, Beau went to Biloxi, Mobile, and Hattiesburg, and I'm sure he stopped in every small town along the way. I returned to Baton Rouge when it got too expensive in New Orleans, Beauregard continued on to Natchez and sent for me. I told him I didn't wish to visit Natchez and the next thing I knew Grace had vanished. Yesterday a wire came for Daddy, and it was from Beauregard. I can't remember exactly what it said, but it seems Grace showed up at his hotel room in Natchez. She may be my sister, but she's a little hussy and I intend to tell her so as soon as I get there._

 _December 10_ _th_ _– Grace is on her way home to Baton Rouge; I had quite a bit to say to my sister, most of it unpleasant, before I sent her on her way. Beauregard and I are back together. What a glorious reunion! I didn't realize just how much I'd missed him until I got here. The love and the passion are still there, stronger than ever. He never seems to tire of telling me and showing me just how much he missed me._

"Pappy. Pappy. Wake up." Bret reached over and gently shook his father, who'd actually fallen asleep when he finished the last sentence on the page.

"Huh? What? What happened?" Beauregard woke with a start, not even realizing he'd fallen asleep.

Bret stood up and stretched. "Come on, I'm takin' you back to the hotel. You need to get some sleep."

"No, I'm fine, really." As if to emphasize that he wasn't, Beau yawned and almost nodded off again.

"You can sleep in my room and I'll come back and stay with him."

Beau's stubbornness resurfaced quickly. "No, I promised I'd stay with him, and I'm not gonna leave him."

"He won't be alone, Pappy, I swear. I'll stay here until you can come back." Bret smiled at his father and Beauregard gave in.

"Alright, but I'm takin' this with me," he stated firmly, clutching the diary to his chest.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Bret told him, and helped his father to his feet. Beau grabbed his cane and hobbled out the door, with Bret trailing behind him. They'd no sooner left the room than Bart took a shuddering breath and moved slightly.

It required almost thirty minutes for Bret to get his father back to the hotel and into his room. He removed the _ex_ tra pillow from the bed and a blanket, and made his way back to Doc Staley's office. Doc was still there working late, and he unlocked the door to let Bret in. "Thanks, Doc. I took Pappy back to the hotel. He's exhausted."

"I know it won't do any good, Bret, but keep a close eye on your father. He's of an age where this is harder on him than either one of us can imagine. Make sure he eats regularly, and keep him out of that chair as much as you can. And I'm here if you need me for anything."

"Doc, while I've got ya alone, about Bart. How much longer can you afford to wait?"

"Honestly, Bret, there's been just a small improvement. I checked him while you were gone, and his blood pressure is back up a bit. I'd say we have to make a decision in the next twenty-four hours." The doctor turned to go back in his office. "Let's see how he is in the morning, alright? Try to get some sleep yourself."

"Sure," Bret answered, and he thought about how many times over the years he'd teased his brother about that very answer. He went to the back room and pulled up two extra chairs next to Bart's bed, to make a place for him to sit and sleep.

Bret took off his coat, hat, and tie, and unbuttoned his vest. The gun stayed on his hip, just in case. He laid the blanket across the chairs, then sat down and removed his boots. Before trying to get comfortable, he leaned over to the prone figure lying in front of him. "I'm here, little brother. I'm not goin' anyplace tonight."

He closed his eyes and dreamt of his childhood, when Bart was well and Momma was alive.


	6. A Bumpy Road

Chapter 6 – A Bumpy Road

Bret woke up three or four times that night; once he was sure he'd heard his brother make some kind of a sound. Sometime after dawn the front door opened and closed; it must have been Doc Staley. Didn't the man ever get any sleep?

About an hour later he heard the door again, and this time the footsteps came all the way back to Bart's room. It was Ben, and Bret got up from the chairs so Ben would have a place to sit down. "You're up awful early," Bret yawned.

"I was in bed asleep awful early," Ben answered. "I came down so you could go back to the hotel and help your father get cleaned up. Then the two of you need to get somethin' to eat before you come back here. That way the boy won't be alone."

"Sounds good, Uncle Ben. Thanks for thinkin' about Pappy eatin' breakfast. That way he's got no good excuse."

"You too, nephew. I'm gonna expect you both to tell me the truth, so don't just settle for coffee. I want ya both to eat real food."

Bret nodded as he buttoned his vest. "I give you my word. We'll eat."

Ben reached up and put his hand on Bret's arm. "Take care of him, Bret. He's the only one I got left." Jessie Maverick, their sister, had died several years back from consumption, and Uncle Micah was so far away and so rarely heard from that he wasn't considered.

"I understand that. I'll be back."

XXXXXXXX

It was almost two hours later before Bret and Beauregard returned to the Doctor's office. Both men had gotten cleaned up and shaved, changed clothes and eaten breakfast. Or at least part of what passed for breakfast.

Ben was relatively excited when they got back. "He made a couple a noises and moved around just a little. Doctor was in here and checked him over, said it was a good sign. Bret, you go talk to him before I leave."

Beauregard grabbed Ben's arm. "You're goin' to play in the game, right? Somebody's got to represent this family. That was the deal. I'd eat meals like I was supposed to and you'd go play poker."

"Yeah, old man, I remember."

Pappy reached up and poked his brother with the cane. "Ya damn fool, have some respect for yer superiors. And don't call me an old man. I'm the only one gets to do that."

Bret was already on his way to the doctor's actual office. He knocked and heard "Come in" before he entered. "Doc, you got some good news for me?"

"I think so. His blood pressures up a little more, and he stirred around. I think that bullet's shifting and it's aggravating him some. That would account for the noises and the movements. His overall condition hasn't changed, but I think he's in a better place than he was last night."

"That's good, right Doc?"

The physician nodded. "Especially if it continues. Be careful what you tell your father. I don't want him getting too excited by such small progress."

Bret understood. "Thanks. I will."

The gambler headed toward the back room, and the closer he got to the door the louder the voices inside got. The last thing he heard was "You got a memory like an elephant, Beau." As soon as the two Mavericks saw Bret they grew still.

"What's this about?" Bret asked as he walked in and closed the door behind him.

"Nothin', nephew. Just like it always is. Nothin'." Ben pushed past Bret and left the room, and in a few seconds the front door slammed.

"Pappy?"

"You heard him, son. It was about nothin'. Where was I yesterday?"

 _March 25_ _th_ _– I've wanted to write things down several times in the past two or three weeks and whenever I sit still I seem to feel poorly. We're still in Natchez, but lately Beau's been talking about going back to Baton Rouge. He actually told me he misses the city, and I certainly miss my father. Grace, not so much, although the last time I got a letter from Daddy, he said that she's started seeing a young man. Maybe someday we can mend our broken fences and get along again._

 _April 17_ _th_ _– Well, there's no longer any doubt in my mind. We're going to have a baby. Beauregard doesn't know yet; I'm going to tell him tonight. I've spent the past few days eating as little as possible because eventually everything ends up in the chamber pot. I certainly hope this doesn't continue for long._

 _April 18_ _th_ _– My husband is going to be a father, and I'm going to be a mother, and Beau couldn't be happier. We laughed, we cried, we even prayed last night. He kissed every part of me that he could reach, and must have asked me twenty times if I was sure. Beauregard wants us to move back to Baton Rouge and see if we can buy a house before too long, and I think it's a lovely idea._

 _May 23_ _rd_ _– We're home in Baton Rouge and we've found a little house only two blocks away from Daddy. Beau just spent a week playing the best poker of his life and we were able to buy the house outright. My all day sickness has not abated any, and I seem to be fighting a losing battle with my insides. I don't care how sick I am, as long as our baby is healthy._

 _July 23_ _rd_ _– It's been days since I was able to get out of bed. My back hurts, my legs hurt, my whole body aches. And the chamber pot stays within my reach at all times. Will this sickness never go away?_

 _October 14_ _th_ _– The first day I felt well enough to write anything in a long time. The closer it gets to time for our child to be born, the worse I feel. Beauregard tries his best to help, but he's just not fit to do much besides play poker. He was managing real well for a while, but he can't sleep because I can't sleep, and lately he just keeps losing. All the money we had put aside for the baby is gone and Beau is staying out longer and longer at night to try and make up for the losses. I don't care anymore, I just want everything to be over and our little girl to be here. Yes, I know she's a girl, no matter what anyone says. I love the name Elizabeth and hope that Beauregard will, too._

 _December 9_ _th_ _– I can barely hold my head up tonight, and Beauregard insisted on going to play poker. I begged him to stay home, just this once, but he wouldn't. Something's not right, and I'm going to see if I can . . . . . ._

Beauregard stopped reading. Even all these years later he still could barely stand the thought that he and Belle almost had a daughter, before either of the boys was ever thought of. After several minutes Bret reached over and touched his father's shoulder. "Pappy, you alright?"

Beau nodded but kept his back to his firstborn son. Tears stood in his eyes, and he'd rather Bret didn't see them. He remained motionless, not speaking, until his tears dried and he could talk without a tremor in his voice. "We lost her, Bret. When I finally came home the next mornin' I found your momma collapsed, with blood everywhere. I went and brought the doctor back, but it was too late. Elizabeth was delivered . . . . . not breathing."

"You named her Elizabeth?"

"Elizabeth Josephine. We buried her in the church graveyard where we got married. It was . . . . it was almost the worst day of my life. Your mother's, too. She blamed herself, I blamed myself, and we both blamed each other. Your momma was sick for a long time afterwards, and we was practically livin' on handouts from her father. I couldn't win a poker game to save my life. Darn near starved, and anything I did win went towards drink, cause that's what I did instead of grieve. I drank. Every minute of every day that I could afford to."

"You and momma . . . . . couldn't work it out?"

Beauregard shook his head slowly. "Nope. Couldn't hardly stand to be in the same room together, much less talk to each other. Belle pulled away from me every time I got within touchin' distance, and I didn't treat her no better. Then your momma started goin' to church all the time, and she wouldn't a heard me if I had talked to her."

Bret knew part of what Pappy was telling him, but not all of it. He could hear the grief and regret in his father's voice, and he felt such sadness for what his parents must have gone through. And then sadness for himself and his brother; they had an older sister they never got to know. It was no wonder Bart felt close to Jody in Montana; she occupied some mysterious hollow spot in his heart.

"Pappy . . . . . "

"Hmmm?"

"You don't hafta read no more."

Beauregard turned his head to look at his oldest boy, long since a man. After a minute or more he smiled. What happened all those years ago was over, and he had two sons instead. "Yeah, son, I do. Time it was all out in the open. Can't look forward if you're afraid ta look back."

Bret nodded. Whatever Pappy wanted. "Yes, sir."

"Now, where was I?"


	7. Mistakes

Chapter 7 – Mistakes

"Now, where was I?"

 _February 16_ _th_ _– He came home from poker last night drunk. Again. That seems to be the only way he comes home anymore, and I'm not sure I blame him. I might try drink, too, if I could only stand the taste. We don't speak; we barely look at each other. I don't know about Beauregard, but I can't manage to sleep to escape – I dream about that night, and my dreams are haunted by visions of Elizabeth. I don't even know what color eyes she had._

 _My sweet, sweet baby girl. To never touch you, never hold you in my arms and sing you a lullaby, never hear you call me momma, never see your first steps. And it's all my fault. I was so sick, I must have done something terribly wrong to lose you that way when you were trying to be born._

 _I know Beauregard must feel it's my fault, too – he can't stand to talk to me, or touch me, or even look at me unless he's full of that awful thing he drinks. And then last night he did reach out to me, and I couldn't stand the feeling of his hands, the look on his face, the smell of his breath. He tried to wipe my tears, and I slapped him. My own husband. He stared at me with those black, black eyes and I could see the loathing and hatred. He walked out and slammed the door behind him, and I haven't seen him since._

 _I have to get out of here. Everywhere I look there are things ready for Elizabeth's arrival, and I can't stand it anymore. Maybe I can convince my father to go somewhere with me; anywhere that's not here. Where I don't have to see Elizabeth's ghost or the revulsion in Beau's eyes. Where I won't cry day and night for the little angel we lost._

"She thought you blamed her," Bret stated unnecessarily.

Beauregard nodded, and his voice was soft when he finally spoke. "And I thought she blamed me. If we'd only talked, we could have worked it out. If we'd only talked."

"But at least the worst was over now. You did stay together, right?" There was a note of hope in Bret's question, and his father felt distress at dashing that hope.

"No, we didn't, son. I'm afraid you haven't heard the worst yet."

 _February 22_ _nd_ _– Daddy and I went to Natchez, and we talked a lot. He made me see a side of things I hadn't considered. What happened was no one's fault, it just happened. I needed to forgive myself for something I couldn't prevent; Beauregard needs to do the same. When I got home, I found a note from Beau and some money – in fact, quite a lot of money. I'm so happy to know that he wants to work things out and love each other the way we were meant to. I'm hoping that he'll come back soon and I can explain the change I feel inside. We've so much to be thankful for. I love you, Beauregard Maverick, and I can't wait to tell you that._

"But you said – "

"Wait, son, just wait. And remember, this was a long time ago."

 _March 3_ _rd_ _– It's only now that I can write down everything that happened. I could have killed him, and I almost wish I had. I'm not sure who I hate most – him or Grace._

 _Beauregard came back to the house and I told him about my trip to Natchez and all the things Daddy had opened my eyes to. I was waiting for him to say anything but what he said to me. I can't forget his words; they're seared into my brain forever. 'I spent last night with your sister Grace.'_

 _I couldn't breathe. All I could see was the smile that must be on her face. She'd wanted my husband for years, and she'd finally gotten him. And then I realized it was his face in front of me, the face that I'd loved; the face that I now hated. I told him to get out and he ignored me. I told him twice more, and he pathetically tried to explain things to me. What things I don't know. I don't care to ever know. He stepped towards me, I backed away. HE WOULDN'T LISTEN TO ME AND GET OUT. And then I saw it, the way to make him listen. His gun was on the table and I grabbed it and told him to get out once more. When he insisted I wouldn't shoot him, that's just what I did. I shot the son-of-a-bitch._

 _There was a look in his eyes again, only this time it was fear. He turned tail and ran like a coward, and if I'm a very lucky woman I'll never see him again as long as I live._

"You . . . . . and her sister . . . . . and she . . . . she shot you? How could she shoot you?" There was astonishment, and disbelief, and confusion, and outright denial in Bret's voice and in his eyes. He stared at Pappy, never expecting to hear the things his father had just read to him.

"Breton, never forget this – I'm lucky it was a single-shot derringer. She'd have killed me with a two-shot gun. Not that I didn't deserve it."

"But, but, she loved you. I know she loved you."

Beau nodded slowly. "Yes, she did. Thank God she did. Son, I slept with her sister. I SLEPT WITH HER SISTER. It didn't matter that she'd turned me away, again and again. It didn't matter. I betrayed her, with her own sister."

Once again they sat in silence for long minutes, while Bret tried to understand what had driven his sweet, gentle mother almost to kill his father. Slowly it dawned on him. "If she'd killed you . . . . . "

"That's right. There'd be no Bret Maverick; no Bart Maverick."

"Pappy. How could you do that? How could you hurt her like that?"

"I didn't do it to hurt her, boy. And she bore some of the responsibility, too. We talked it all out. Eventually. But not for a long time."

Bret shook his head. "When did you quit drinkin'?"

"Ha! I couldn't even blame liquor for what I did with Grace. I quit drinkin' before I spent the night with her."

Bret happened to look down at his brother and saw that his hands were in a different spot than they'd been before. "Look, Pa, Bart moved. Guess he's not pleased with you."

"Your brother's heard all this before."

A puzzled look crossed his son's face, and then it came to him. "When I was at Althea's. And you two had yer heads together all the time."

"Yep. I wanted to tell both of ya at the same time."

"I know. That one's on me."

Pappy reached over and patted his son's arm. "We all make mistakes, boy. Even you." Beauregard closed the diary and struggled to his feet. "I need to go out and smoke. You stay here?"

"Yes, sir."

Beau smiled. Somebody had raised the boy right, and he knew who was responsible. "Good job, Isabelle," he murmured as he slowly made his way outside. "Good job."

XXXXXXXX

Bret was still sitting in the same spot, pondering everything he'd just heard from his father, when the door to the room opened again and Jack Templeton walked in. "Thought I better come see how he was for myself," the Ranger stated. "I passed your father out there."

Bret grinned. "Did he snarl at ya?"

"No," Jack answered, "he said hello."

"Pappy actually talked to you?"

"Yep. That so unusual?"

"For Pappy, yeah."

Templeton looked down at the man lying on the bed. "Any change in your brother?"

"Nothin' big. Little things, Doc's still waitin' to see what happens."

"With the bullet?"

"Yep."

"Your friend Buckley came to see me."

"Not my friend. Bart's. Buckley and I tolerate each other. Barely, sometimes. What'd he want, by the way?"

"Wanted to know if we'd protect him if Slade turned up lookin' for him."

Another grin from the gambler. He could just imagine that conversation. "What'd ya tell him?"

"I told him sure we would." Even the Ranger smiled.

"Good. Keep him outta my hair."

"How could he be friends with one of you and not the other?"

"You've met Buckley. For some reason Bart likes him. He gets on my last nerve."

The door opened and Beauregard walked back in. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were back here, Ranger."

Templeton extended his hand to the Maverick patriarch. "Jack Templeton, Mr. Maverick. Your son Bart was a big help in our smashing of the Texas Republic group. I don't think we ever could have been as successful without his and Bret's assistance."

"My sons?" Pappy asked.

The Ranger nodded.

"Worked with the Texas Rangers?"

Jack nodded again.

"Both of them?"

"Yes, sir, both of them. They were the ones that broke the attempt at secession wide open. We'd still be sittin' in the dark without their help."

"Mavericks workin' with the Texas Rangers!"

"Is that so hard to believe, Mr. Maverick?"

Beau gave a little chuckle. "No, they had a good Ma. She raised 'em right."

"Sorry to meet you under these circumstances. I've told Bret, Doc Staley is one of the best. He'll get this all worked out right. Just trust him. I've seen him perform miracles."

"Alright, Ranger, I'll take your word for it. And thanks for the kind words."

They shook hands again, and Templeton left. Pappy turned to his eldest son. "We all make mistakes, boy. Even you. Remember that."

"Yes, sir." And Bret grinned.


	8. Bad Timing

Chapter 8 – Bad Timing

Beau had settled back down into a chair; his oldest son was anxious to find out what happened next between his mother and father. "How long before you saw her again?"

Beauregard swallowed hard. "Over a year."

"A year? What were you doin'? Where were you?"

"Well, it was over a month before the gunshot healed. Then I kept runnin' into her father, playin' poker or eatin' a meal, but he wouldn't talk to me. Finally I cornered him and we spoke. He advised me to give her time to heal; to get over everything that'd happened. I gave him a lotta money to give Belle, and told him to tell her I still loved her. Then I went to New Orleans for three months. After that I did some travelin' and some visitin', and it was a year before I got back to Baton Rouge."

"And you saw her then?"

"You're awful anxious about this, ain't you, boy? No, I went by the house to try and see her and the place was burned down. So I went to the Grayson house. It was empty. I was near frantic; I went lookin' fer any of 'em. Of course, the one I come across was Grace. She married her a blacksmith, a big ole boy who seemed a nice enough sort. I kept lookin' but couldn't unearth Belle or her father, so I went to see Grace. Isabelle and Jeremiah had moved to Vermilionville; Belle was offered a paid teaching position there. So I left for Vermilionville. It took me four months to locate Grayson, and it was just by chance one night that I did. Followed him home and knew where she lived."

"Then?"

"Nope. But I'll read you some more of her diary."

 _Undated Entry – I knew when I took this job that it was a poor school, in great need of repair. It's worse than I ever thought. Most of the windows are broken or not there at all, floorboards all over the schoolroom need to be repaired or replaced, and you have to walk a fine line when climbing the steps to get inside without crashing through them. And so many leaks in the roof that I have buckets everywhere. Poor little building, I'm afraid it's broken and in great need of repair, much like me._

 _I have to admit that even after all this time I am beyond miserable. I miss Beauregard so much; his smile, his laugh, the smell of his cigars and the gentleness of his hands. He left a great deal of money with Daddy a month or so after . . . . . . after what I did, and we're still living off of it. I've not seen him since then; it's been over a year. What a fool I was! I pushed him right into Grace's waiting arms, and then I punished him for taking advantage of the very thing I'd pushed him towards. We were both in the wrong and my heart aches for him. I suppose he's found someone else by now, and I shan't ever see him again. I hope I'm mistaken._

 _November 1_ _st_ _– We're making do at the school. Something is happening there and I don't know how or why, but I am grateful for it. For the first time today when I came in the steps didn't try to grab me and pull me in. I examined them and it appears that someone has repaired them! Bless you, whoever you are! It was good to see that the children noticed it, too. At least they can get inside now._

 _November 12_ _th_ _– Our school angel continues to repair things. All the floorboards inside have been fixed or changed, and the hole in the wall that let the cold air in was patched. God bless whoever is doing the work – it must be a parent, and they refuse to claim it for whatever reason. No one else would think about fixing up the place._

 _I must be imagining things; I thought I saw Beauregard the other night, down at Mary's café. I know he's not here in Vermilionville; maybe I'm seeing things just because I want to. I hope he's happy, wherever he is, or at least at peace with the events that happened. I know I can't go back and fix them, but I wish I could. I'll love him until the day I die, even if he doesn't love me anymore._

 _November 24_ _th_ _– Our roof no longer leaks! I don't know how somebody could fix a roof in just one or two nights. There must be a whole team of people working on the schoolhouse. Nobody knows who's doing the repairs, and I don't care. They are an angel sent by God above! He heard our prayers and continues to answer them._

 _December 15_ _th_ _– Just in time. It started raining today and I suddenly realized that we have new windows. This is beyond impossible. I never even noticed it until I hurried over to see why the rain wasn't coming in and I saw they had all been replaced! God bless the man or men that have done all this work for us. I wish I knew who they were so I could thank them personally. I will be forever grateful._

 _January 5th – It's too much. I opened the schoolroom doors today to find – a desk! I have a desk! All this time I've been sitting in a chair and stacking my things on crates or on the floor – but I don't have to anymore. I have a functioning desk! I'm going to put a note on the front door thanking whoever has done all this work. There is a special place in heaven for them, and I want them to know how much they are appreciated by all the children and me._

 _On another subject – it's been over eighteen months since the last time I saw Beauregard, and that was the day I shot him. I wonder where he is, and who he's with? There must be someone, he's not the kind of man to live alone for too awfully long. I hope she is good to him and loves him as much as I still do. If we ever return to Baton Rouge to visit maybe I'll be lucky enough to see him. I hope he stopped drinking, it wasn't good for him. Oh, Beau, if I could go back and do it all over again, how different it would be! Other people get second chances, why can't we?_

"Momma had no idea who it was doin' the work on the schoolhouse?"

"Nope. None at all."

Bret was quiet for a minute, and Pappy picked the diary back up and found his place. Just as he was about to start reading again his son asked, "It was you, wasn't it?"

Beau nodded, pleased that Bret had figured it out before he continued reading. "It was me."

 _February 3_ _rd_ _– What a surprise! I never would have guessed who it was that was my schoolhouse repair angel! I should start at the beginning._

 _Today after I'd sent the children home I heard adult feet climb the stairs outside, then open the door and come in. I was just finishing grading a paper and it was a moment before I looked up. I almost gasped when I saw that it was Beauregard. He looked – oh my God, how good he looked. Just the way I remember him. I pretended I didn't care anymore – why I did that, I'll never know. Maybe I wanted to see if he did. He wasn't going to argue with me – he was just going to leave – and as he turned to go I saw something and gasped out "Stop!" And he did._

 _He wheeled back towards me and I marched up to him and stared down at his hands. His gamblers hands that were always so well groomed – beautifully manicured, treated as if they were made of precious gold. They were cut and nicked and bruised, as if he'd been fighting with a knife and lost. And then I knew – I knew who the angel was that had repaired the schoolhouse. My beautiful, beautiful gambler with the sad looking hands. And he'd done it without even taking credit for it. I finally let go of my well-practiced indifference and smiled, and the next thing I knew, I was in his arms and we were kissing. Oh, Beauregard, I've missed you so!_

Beau looked up to see Doctor Staley in the doorway. "Doctor. Why didn't you say somethin'?"

"You were so engrossed in what you were reading, Mr. Maverick, I didn't want to interrupt you. Could you give me a minute with my patient, please? I'd like to check and see how he's doing."

Beau stood up, marginally stiff and wobbly at first. "I will, Doc, if you'll quit callin' me Mr. Maverick an call me Beauregard instead."

Bret got up and gave Beau his arm. "Come on, Pappy, a walk around town'll do both of us some good."

"No worries, Mr. – Beauregard. I'll be here with him if anything happens."

Bret and Beauregard made their way to the front door. Bret opened it and they went outside as Pappy lost his grip on the cane and dropped it. Bret bent down to pick it up just as a shot rang out. Bret grabbed his father and pulled him back inside, drew his gun and pushed the door shut. It was only then that Maverick realized with a shock that Pappy was on the floor and there was a dark red stain spreading across the right sleeve of Beauregard's tan frock coat. The bullet meant for Bret had hit his father instead.


	9. Breton Joseph Maverick

Chapter 9 – Breton Joseph Maverick

"Pappy! Pappy! Say somethin'!"

Bret searched frantically for his father's pulse until he found it. "Doc Staley! Up front!"

The doctor came running into the front office. "Good God! What happened?" He rushed over to Beau's side.

"He's got a pulse," Bret told the doctor.

"Get him into the exam room," Staley pleaded, and Bret picked up his father and carried him into the next room. The doctor went to work and with Bret's help got Beau's coat off, then the doctor ripped the sleeve of his shirt open. Bret winced, knowing that his father still wore specially tailored shirts. "I've got no exit wound," the doctor declared shortly as he tended to the injury. Suddenly Beauregard let out a yelp that could be heard through the whole office.

"Well, he's awake now," the physician announced, then turned back to his patient. "Lay still, Beauregard. It's not bad, but the bullets still in there. Bret, I need your help." Bret hurried over. "You need to hold him, I've got to get the bullet out."

"Get me a kerchief," Beau told his son, and Bret pulled his out and tied it into a knot, then put it in his father's mouth so Beau had something to bite on.

"I've got whiskey," Doc offered, but Bret shook his head.

"He hasn't had a drink in forty years. He's not gonna take one now."

Abruptly the door was flung open and Ben came charging in, with Jack Templeton right on his heels. The doctor held up a bloodied hand in protest. "Ranger Templeton, you have to leave. The Mavericks can stay."

Ben scrutinized Bret. "What happened?"

Bret was still putting the pieces together and shook his head in frustration. "Probably one a those secessionists that slipped through the cracks. And most likely they were after me. Damn, Pappy, I'm sorry."

"Don't ya think it's time ya tell your Pa the whole story?"

Bret nodded. "I will, I promise. I shoulda told ya before."

The doctor looked down at Beau, then up at Bret. "Hang on, both of you. I can see the bullet." It only took a minute of digging and it was all over; the doctor's expert probing yielding the offending projectile.

Bret removed the handkerchief from his father's mouth and Pappy spat out, "I thought my days of gettin' shot were over. Breton, just what did you and your brother get into?"

"Uh . . . . . . . . somethin' that's supposed to be over and done with, Pappy."

"Does this look like it's over an done with?"

"Hold still, Beauregard, I need a couple stitches here," the physician instructed.

"Alright, ouch, when Doc's done, ouch, Bret?"

"Yes, sir."

"This man needs some rest, gentlemen. Go on out to my office, please? And don't anybody else get shot. I have no more room for wounded Mavericks."

Ben and Bret left the exam room and went into Doctor Staley's office. Ben sat in a chair, Bret paced in circles until the doctor came in and sat down. "I don't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing," the doctor pronounced

"Why, Doctor?" Ben asked.

"I've been worried about his health since he got here yesterday. The man is too old to have to deal with a trauma of this kind. I expect the two of you to make sure that he stays here and gets some rest, and keep him from going back to Bart's room. He needs to be flat and sleeping, not sitting in a chair forcing himself to stay awake. I don't want to have to deal with an infection on top of the physical and emotional strain. Am I clear on that point?"

Both Mavericks nodded agreement. "He's not gonna be happy about that," Ben offered.

"I can read the diary if he insists," Bret answered. "He seemed determined that Bart should hear it."

"Whatever it takes to keep him resting, at least until I've had the chance to make a decision about your brother's treatment. Speaking of which, I want to get back to him. You two can stay in whichever room suits you, although I would feel better if one of you was with Beauregard for a time. At least until we can get him to sleep for a while."

Ben stood up and looked at his nephew. "You stay with your brother, I'll sit with mine. I can't concentrate on poker right now, anyway. No matter what your father thinks."

"Alright, Uncle Ben. I'll take the diary in with me."

Ben nodded curtly and left the office. Doc Staley had some additional questions for Bret. "How's your Uncle's health?"

Bret was taken aback. "Good, as far as I know. Why do you ask?"

"I don't mean to give you anything more to worry about, but . . . . . . I've noticed some small things that concern me. Do he and your father have a regular doctor?"

Bret nodded. "Simon Petry, someone I grew up with. Somethin' in particular?"

"You know what, Bret? It can wait until Bart's taken care of. Let's go back and see how your brother's doing this afternoon."

Back in Bart's room, Staley finished his exam. "Well, overall I'm mildly pleased. His breathing seems to be improving – I'm not so sure that bullet caught a lung."

"What about the bullet, Doc? You still need to get it out, right?"

"Yes, that hasn't changed. I'm convinced the longer we wait, the better off he's gonna be. I'd like to check him again in a couple of hours."

"Doc – "

The doctor looked up from his patient, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully at this exact moment.

"Do you think he can hear us?"

"That's a tough one to answer. I wish I knew."

Once the doctor left the room, Bret took up Pappy's former position in the nearest chair. "Brother Bart, yer gonna hafta listen to my voice for a while. And I don't guarantee how fast I'm gonna be." Bret started paging through the diary, trying to find the last thing Pappy read out loud. After the February 3rd entry, there was nothing until almost the end of summer.

 _September 4_ _th_ _– That man is the most stubborn human being I have ever encountered. He insists we are still legally married; we may well be. But we took vows when we married at the Sacred Congregation Church and Beauregard violated those vows when he . . . . . . you know, with Grace. Our marriage may not have been dissolved in the eyes of the law, but it certainly was in God's eyes. He wants us to resume our marital relationship, and I keep telling him no. Not unless and/or until we are remarried. In the church. In front of God and everyone else. I love him. I love him very much. But I am not going to, you know; I'm not. Not as long as God considers us asunder._

 _November 24_ _th_ _– Praise God, Beauregard finally understands and has seen the light. He has proposed that we re-marry, in church so that God knows it has been done, and I have agreed. It will be the first Sunday in December, and I will once again be 'Mrs. Beauregard Maverick.' Forever._

 _December 5_ _th_ _– Beauregard and I were married this afternoon. Before the ceremony, he gave me a fine-looking Bible with an inscription that reads 'To my beautiful, bewitching Belle. On our wedding day. Forever yours, Beauregard.' The man has always had my heart, whether he knows it or not, and will until I die. There is no one like him._

 _January 2_ _nd_ _– Beau told me today that he'd bought the house from my father, and it is truly now our home. I am content. Daddy seems to be, too, and is moving to a hotel._

 _April 17_ _th_ _(1834) – Jeremiah Jamison Grayson died yesterday. My father, my wonderful poppa, left this earth to go to his heavenly reward. He's been staying at our house for the last week since he wasn't feeling well. I went in to check on him after he'd been napping for an hour and found that the Lord had taken him in his sleep. I am broken hearted, but so grateful that he got to see how truly happy Beauregard and I are together. We will bury him here, in the graveyard at the First Presbyterian Church, where he can sleep peacefully. I love you daddy, and will miss you forever._

 _November 18_ _th_ _– We're moving to Texas in the spring! Beauregard and Bentley have been presented with an opportunity by their brother Micah that is too good to pass up, and we (all six of us) are moving in the spring. Just think, the Mavericks will live in Texas, a new, independent nation! Beau and Ben will try cattle ranching, and Micah will continue his previous endeavor. Cattle ranchers! The Mavericks. How appropriate! So happy to think that the card playing may finally come to an end._

 _August 1_ _st_ _– How long have I been waiting for this day? We're going to have a baby! At long last. Beauregard and I had just about given up hope, but it's finally happened. We've only been in Texas for a little over three weeks and our baby will be born here. I'm so happy I think I'll burst, but I'm not telling Beauregard until I'm a little further down-the-road this time. And, please God, let this one go like it's supposed to, and not like Elizabeth's went. I don't think I could stand that again._

 _September 5_ _th_ _– I finally had to tell Beau, after he asked me if I was eating too much of my own cooking. He cried, he was so happy. He had no idea, as I haven't been sick at all, and have just been walking around with this secret for weeks! I know he's scared, the same way that I was, but everything will be fine this time, I'm sure of it. I'm strong and healthy, and can't wait to meet our baby. I hope it's a boy so that we will have a son. Just think, a Maverick heir!_

 _April 8, 1840 – Yesterday was the best day of my life. Beauregard and I finally have a child, a son we named Breton Joseph Maverick. My baby boy Bret. I'm in bed, at Beau's insistence, watching the new father rock his son to sleep. His daddy has been holding him, every chance he gets, since the poor child was born. Between the two of us all we do is smile. Giving birth was not the easiest thing I've ever done, but every pain, every twinge was worth it as soon as the midwife handed me my son. I'm proud to have brought this life into the world; we waited so long for you, little boy._

 _He's beautiful. Black hair and lots of it, just like his poppa, and those jet black eyes of Beau's. He gurgles and coos all the time and seems so very pleased to be here with us. He's a big baby, beautiful and healthy looking, and I pray he'll grow tall and strong. Thank you, dear Lord, for the wonderful blessing you have given us. Our family is complete at last!_

 _I'm trying to write down just how I feel, but there are no words that can express this. I would kill for him; I would die for him. From the look in Beauregard's eyes I know he thinks the same way. We are truly blessed._

 _We just got more good news, when Bentley and Abigail came to visit. Abby is going to have a baby, too! I am so happy for them. I've seen the longing in Abby's eyes for far too long. Texas seems to be fertile ground for the Mavericks!_

Bret stopped reading and put the diary down gently, standing up and stretching before walking across the room to pour a glass of water. Halfway through the glass there was a sound from the bed; it was an audible moan and came from his brother. Bret put the glass down and rushed back to the bed, sitting quickly in a chair and taking one of Bart's hands in his. The hand was smooth and soft, as was his own, manicured and groomed just like their father's hands had been always been – a gambler's hands. What had Momma said about them? 'Treated as if they were made of precious gold.'

"Come on back now," Bret whispered to his brother. "You been gone long enough." As if in answer, there was another small moan from the man in the bed, and a slight trembling of his hand. Bret gave the hand a squeeze and repeated the entreaty. "Come on back."


	10. Handy to Have Around

Chapter 10 – Handy to Have Around

Bret was still sitting there, just watching his brother sleep, or whatever it was he was doing, when Jack Templeton came back. He entered the room and sat down across from the young gambler but never said anything until Bret looked up at him.

"Jack. I assume you're here with questions."

"Yeah, that's about the size of it. You up to answering some?"

"Whatta ya got?"

Bret waited for the inquisition to begin. He didn't expect the first question he heard, however. "Your father got anybody out to get him?"

"Nope. Not since the day he met my momma."

Jack gave a little chuckle. "A one-woman man, eh?"

"After he met Isabelle Grayson, yep."

"She back in Little Bend?"

Bret gave a slight smile. "In a manner of speaking."

"You got anybody after you I ought to know about?"

"Besides Tommy Slade? None that I know of."

"We thought he was in Mexico."

"I think he's back. He needs to be caught, Templeton. I don't want to worry about him tryin' to put his own bullet in my brother."

"Looks like he's more concerned with putting a bullet in you."

"You agree with me then. He was after me and not Pappy."

Jack nodded. "It makes sense. You're the one killed Maxwell."

"And how does he know that?"

"Good question. One I don't have an answer for. Yet."

They sat without talking for two or three minutes, until the Ranger asked, "You mind if I speak to your pa?"

"Go right ahead and try. I'm not sure he'll even talk to me right now."

The Ranger got up and left the room, but was back in less than five minutes. Bret wasn't surprised.

"He says he won't talk to me until you give him the whole story."

Bret nodded, resignedly. "That's what I expected. Come with me."

Back into Beauregard's room they went. "Uncle Ben, could you sit with Bart for a while? I'm sure you don't want to hear this whole story again."

Once Ben was gone Bret sat down and Templeton pulled up another chair. From the exam table Pappy growled, "Does he have to be here?"

"Yes, Ranger Templeton does. His name is Jack. And I went to the Rangers, not the other way around."

Bret launched into the gun runner's tale, and when he'd finally finished there was nothing other than a long, drawn-out sigh from his father. Bret waited for a comment from Beauregard; a grimace, a sarcastic remark, anything. Nothing of the sort was forthcoming until Pappy finally said, "I guess I'm gettin' old. I don't see any other way around it. You and yer brother did the right thing, boy."

"I came to the same conclusion, Mr. Maverick," the Ranger agreed. "May I ask you some questions about what happened earlier today?"

"Yeah, Jack, was it? I'll do my best to give ya answers."

Bret was tempted to smile, but he knew better. Maybe Pappy was getting old, but he was willing to admit when he was wrong. Quite a change from the old days, and a real improvement, as far as his oldest son was concerned. Templeton asked Pappy questions, none of them unexpected, and Pappy answered them as best he could. When the Ranger had gotten all the answers he was going to get, he tipped his hat to Pappy.

"You raised two real fine men, Mr. Maverick. You should be proud of them."

"Thank you, Jack. I am proud of them. Both of them." Templeton left and Beau reached out with his left hand and grabbed Bret's arm. "I meant what I said. I am proud of both of ya."

"I'll send Uncle Ben back in. Momma was quite some lady, wasn't she?"

"Yes son, she surely was. And the best thing – she was my lady."

XXXXXXXX

"Where was I, Brother Bart? Oh, that's right, Cousin Beau was gonna be born."

 _October 14_ _th_ _– I just spent the morning at Ben and Abby's house, and I was privileged to be there when their son was born. Bentley wants to name him Beauregard, after his uncle, and Abby seems to have no objections. My Beauregard spent the morning tending to Bret and Ben, and I'm not sure which one needed the attention more. Bentley was almost as happy as his brother had been when his son was born and immediately came in to see his wife and child. Abby seems to have been exhausted by the entire birthing; she's not the strongest of women and it was a difficult birth. I'm going to stay with her for a day or two just to make sure she gets enough rest. The Brothers Maverick can take care of themselves for a night or two._

 _March 3_ _rd_ _– We've been spending so much time thinking about Bret's first birthday that I've been entirely preoccupied, and didn't realize that something in my life was missing. After this morning and my visit with the chamber pot, I know what it was. I never expected this to happen again but it has. We're going to have another baby. Wait until I tell Beauregard!_

 _April 7_ _th_ _– We had a small gathering for Bret's first birthday. Abby, bless her heart, baked a cake and brought it over. I took one look at it and ran for the back door. When I came back in Abby watched me and said, "Isabelle?" I just nodded and smiled. I haven't told Beau yet, I wanted to wait until we'd celebrated Bret's birthday. He's walking now and loves to investigate everything he can get to, so I'll tell Beau tonight once our little man is in bed asleep._

 _April 10_ _th_ _– I've been in bed the last two days and I'm hoping this won't be another difficult baby to carry. Beauregard was overjoyed; just like me, he never expected this would happen again. I don't care whether we have a boy or a girl, I just want a healthy baby. Please, God, make that possible._

 _September 12_ _th_ _– It's getting close to my time, I can tell. I've never completely shaken the sickness that plagued me in the first two months, but I've been alright most of the time. This one feels like another boy, but I have two names picked out just in case. Bartley if it's a boy, Barbara if it's a girl. Come on, little Maverick, we're all waiting to see who you are._

 _September 21_ _st_ _– Bartley Jamison Maverick has arrived! My second beautiful boy! He's smaller than Bret, with dark brown rather than black hair and (Beauregard says) my brown eyes. My sweet, sweet, Bartley, you have my heart. He took just a little bit longer to get here, almost like he didn't quite want to come into the world, but he finally got tired of being alone and came to join his brother. Beauregard had been worried about having enough love for both of our children, but that notion was dispelled the moment he held Bart. And when he brought Bret into the bedroom to meet his new brother and it was determined that we were keeping the addition to the family, our oldest was immensely pleased. He held his brother and was just as enraptured with him as his father. My life is complete. I can't imagine ever being any happier than I am right now!_

 _Undated entry – It's been so long since I got to write any. It's not easy keeping up with a toddler and a baby, one of whom seems to be sick all the time (Bart). He appears to catch everything going around; otherwise, he is a happy boy. His father is right, he does seem to have my eyes. And he is unusually awake and alert most of the time. He watches everything and seems fascinated with his brother. Beauregard is besotted with both of his boys – I hope it always stays that way._

 _May 2_ _nd_ _– My heart is truly broken. Abigail died yesterday, after a short illness. It was the fever, and she was gone so quickly that none of us knows how to act. Ben is just destroyed; Beau isn't even two years old and motherless. I've heard stories of the beginnings of their marriage and I don't know if they're true or not, but I know that Ben genuinely loved her ever since I've known them. I don't know what he is going to do without her; I don't know what that poor baby is going to do without her. When Ben can think rationally again, I will suggest that he look for a housekeeper. He needs someone to take care of him, and Beau needs someone to mother him as best they can. I will do everything I can, and try to fill in some of the empty spaces._

Bret broke off reading when the door to the room opened again. This time it was Sammy Jo who appeared, with an apologetic look on her face. "Bret, I'm so sorry. That fella you didn't want here – the Buckley fella – he's back. And he's got some other fella with him. He's the one that asked for you, Mr. Buckley didn't say a word. Somethin's not right, there, Bret. I don't know what, but somethin'."

"Thanks, Sammy Jo. Would you stay back here with Bart? I'll go take care of 'em. And don't let anybody in, okay?"

"Sure. Doc's not here right now, so I guess it's okay."

Bret walked through the other room, to his father and Ben. Pappy was asleep, but Ben was quietly reading the newspaper. "What's wrong?' he asked, as soon as he saw Bret with his gun drawn.

"I'm not sure if anything's wrong," Bret answered. "But Jim Buckley's here, and somebody's with him. Sammy Jo seemed to think somethin' wasn't right, and I'm not takin' any chances. I left Sammy back with Bart. You comin' with me?"

"Yeah," Ben answered.

"You got a gun?"

"Yeah," Ben answered again, and pulled open the right side of his coat. There was a shoulder holster with a double shot Remington in it. "Your father quit carrying a gun. I didn't."

"Let's go."

Bret opened the door and he exited slowly into the outer office. Ben followed close behind. Jim Buckley was indeed there, and the man with him was Tommy Slade. Bret could see the gun in Buckley's back. "Well, Maverick, I wasn't sure whether to expect you or not."

Buckley shrugged his shoulders. "I told him you really weren't particularly fond of me and you might not come out. He ignored my warnings."

"Shut up, Buckley. You was more tolerable when you was quiet. Who's the old man?"

"My uncle. Whatta you want, Slade?"

"Your name really is Maverick, ain't it?"

"Born and raised."

"Why?"

"Why what?" Bret asked.

"You ain't no ranger. Buckley says yer a real gambler. Why'd you get into this?"

"What difference does it make now? What do you want, Slade?"

The former ranch foreman was persistent if nothing else.. "Why'd you kill Lee?"

"Because he tried to kill me."

Slade nodded, satisfied that was all he was going to get out of the gambler. He pointed his gun at Bret and shoved Buckley out of the way. He'd been paying no attention to Ben, and it cost him. The older Maverick pulled his derringer and fired both bullets into the man with the gun. His eyes opened wide in surprise an instant before he dropped his weapon and followed it to the ground, dead.

Buckley looked at the body on the floor and brushed himself off. "I say, you Mavericks are handy to have around, aren't you?"


	11. I'm Not Stupid

Chapter 11 – I'm Not Stupid

"Ben, you alright?"

Bentley Maverick nodded his head and sat down. "Yeah," was about all there was to say. Bret kicked the gun away from Slade's hand and sat with his uncle, thankful that Ben still carried the derringer he'd used to stop the secessionist.

"Thanks, Uncle Ben," Bret told him as he removed the now-empty derringer from Bentley's hand.

"Crazy man," Ben murmured. "Did he think he could just shoot you?"

"It wasn't just Bret, dear fellow," Buckley interjected. "He told me he intended to kill me, too. And all the Mavericks."

Jack Templeton came through the front door with his lieutenant Brady Clark close behind. "Well, you seem to have the situation under control, Maverick."

"Not me," Bret answered. "Uncle Ben."

The ranger bent down and turned the body over. "Ah, our friend Slade. Clark, I would imagine the doctor's rooms are all full right now. Take the body – "

The exam room door opened and Beauregard stood in the doorway, in a shirt with the right sleeve ripped off. He didn't look too bad for a man that had been shot earlier in the day. "He can have my room," Pappy interrupted. "I'm done with it. Can somebody please get me a new shirt and a coat that's not ruined?"

"I'll go, Pappy," Bret volunteered, and told Templeton as he left the doctor's, "No questions until I get back, alright?" He hurried out and up the street to the hotel. After getting the key from the front desk clerk, Bret went to Beau and Ben's room to procure the required clothing. Upon taking a shirt and dark brown coat for his father, he locked the door and hurried back to the doctor's office. Beauregard was now sitting down and Ben was standing beside him; Slade's body and Ranger Clark were gone. Buckley was still there, taking up space in Bret's opinion. "Let's get you dressed," Bret told his father, and they borrowed Doc Staley's office for a few minutes.

Beau insisted his arm was fine and although Bret saw his father wince at least twice he wasn't going to argue. When they returned to the front room of the clinic Buckley had disappeared and Templeton explained, "I sent him back to the Rangers' offices. Mr. Maverick, anything you can tell me about the shooting?"

"Not much," Ben remarked. "Damn fool had a gun on Buckley, shoved him aside and turned to shoot my nephew. I put two bullets in him first."

"Would you be willing to sign a statement to that effect when I get it written up?"

"Of course. Do you need me for anything else? I'd like to get Beau back to the hotel."

"I'm not goin' anywhere," Pappy protested.

The next person through the front door was the doctor. "Oh Lord, what's happened now?"

"Sorry, Doc, we've got a body for you in the exam room," Templeton explained.

"Well, at least it's not another Maverick. Wait – it's not another Maverick, is it?"

"No, it's somebody we've been tracking. Tommy Slade," Templeton stated.

Doctor Staley sighed. "I don't like being this busy."

Ben took hold of Beau's left arm. "Come on, brother dear, you've got an appointment with the hotel room." Beauregard knew when he was beaten and went with his brother voluntarily. Bret finally remembered Sammy Jo and went rushing into Bart's room.

"You alright, Sammy?"

"Bret! Thank goodness you finally came back! I heard the gunshots and was afraid to come out." The young woman ran to Bret and hugged him, before backing away in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I'm just so relieved!"

"Sorry to keep ya in here so long. I wanted to make sure everything was over before I came to get ya. How's my brother?"

"He's fine, now. When I heard the shots, he flinched. Like he heard 'em, too. Do ya think he did?"

Bret shook his head. "I don't know, Sammy. I sure hope so. That'd be a good sign, I think. Thanks for stayin' with him."

She patted Bret's arm on her way back to the front office. Jack Templeton walked in after Sammy Jo left. "Any change?"

"Sammy says he flinched when she heard the shots."

Templeton's head bobbed up and down. "Good. That means he's hearing things."

"Whatta ya need, Jack?"

"Stay alert, Bret. Just because Slade's gone doesn't mean it's over. I'd almost bet there's one or two in town we missed." He slapped Bret on the arm. "I'm going to see Buckley, see if Slade said anything to him he didn't repeat to you."

"Thanks. Good luck with Buckley. He doesn't always tell the exact truth."

"I'll remember that," and the ranger was gone.

Now that he didn't have to worry about Tommy Slade anymore, Bret settled back down with Isabelle's diary and once again began to read to his brother.

 _May 3_ _rd_ _– I can't believe that Abigail has been gone for a year already. Ben still has his moments; I can see it in his eyes. He's found a wonderful woman to take care of him and Beau; her name is Lily Mae Connors. Lily Mae's heart is big enough to encompass the whole town, and she is taking excellent care of my brother-in-law, and especially Little Beau. It's so funny to see Lily with all the boys, they just love her to death. She calls Bart 'Mr. B.' It's nice to have someone adult to talk to again, as I spend a lot of my days with two little boys. No matter how hard they tried, Beauregard and Bentley just couldn't seem to make a go of the cattle ranching business and they have both primarily gone back to playing poker._

 _I'd hoped that phase of my husband's life might be behind us, but it just wasn't meant to be. And I have to admit that Beauregard seems happier now that he is back to his first love (poker). Ben doesn't even pretend anymore – he sold all his remaining stock to George Walker, the rancher on the other side of him._

 _October 18_ _th_ _– They're growing up so fast. Bret is four and Bart just turned three. I know that Beauregard is teaching them to play poker; I'm not stupid. Every time I see the baby, he has a card in his hands. Beau's teaching both boys to ride, and it scares me to death because as slight as Bart is he prefers to ride bareback. Trying to keep my little boy healthy is a job all by itself; he catches everything that's going around and cries all night when he's sick. Bret spends a good deal of his time helping momma take care of his brother and doesn't seem to mind one bit._

 _I've been teaching them to read. If they can recognize things on a deck of cards they can recognize and learn words. We're learning from the Bible, which serves a two-fold purpose. They go to church with me on Sunday and while Bret gets fidgety sometimes, Bart seems fascinated by Reverend Nevins sermons. He always wants to come home and read more of the Bible after we've been to church._

 _My other brother-in-law, Micah, has sold his ranch and is moving back to Charleston. He just can't stand the hot, dry heat here in Texas. We see so little of Micah and his wife Charlotte that it won't make much difference, anyway. I wish them all the best and hope they have a safe journey._

 _April 21_ _st_ _– Another birthday has passed, and Bret is now five. What a little man he is. Ever momma's helper, I don't know what I would do without him. Bart has a stuffed bear named Mr. Giggles that he takes everywhere with him, and he loses it everywhere. Bret has become the bear-finder. Or the bear-sitter, I'm not sure which. He makes sure his brother always has Mr. Giggles with him. He does indeed love and protect his brother._

 _And Bartley is just adoring of Bret. Everywhere brother goes, little brother must go, too. And Beauregard is so proud of them. I see the look in his eyes when he thinks I'm not watching. The man who didn't know what kind of a father he would make is the best in the world, at least as far as two little boys are concerned. They are most unhappy when Pappy (as they call him) leaves to go out of town and play poker and are practically beside themselves with joy when he returns home. The last time Beau came back from San Antonio he brought them a brand new deck of cards and a gold coin each. You'd have thought the cards were made of gold, they were treated with such reverence. I love my husband, and I'm proud of the way he's provided for us, but I'd rather the boys grew up to be something besides gamblers. Doctors, lawyers, even lawmen, but if things keep going the way they are I fear there will be no other profession in this house. Bret and Bart are already quite good at poker, as is their cousin Beau, even if they think I don't know that they play it whenever they get the chance. Darling, darling boys, light of your mother's life, I'll love you no matter what, but can't you raise cattle or horses or even (God forbid) sheep? How will you ever find a wife if you have your father's wanderlust?_

 _June 15_ _th_ _– I'm writing this after the boys are in bed asleep. We had quite a trauma today, and I'm still not over it. Bart is sick again (normal for my youngest, I'm afraid), and I was in the boys bedroom with him when Bret came running in and grabbed my hand, insisting that I follow him to the front door. We were on our way there when I was stopped dead in my tracks by the sight of my sister Grace standing in my front room. I was so angry, even after all these years, that I told her to leave. We argued back and forth for a few minutes and we woke Beau, who was just as unhappy to see her as I was. He ordered her out, too, and then the worst thing happened. Our little gentleman came running back in, having dragged his baby brother out of bed, babbling about meeting 'Aunty Grace.' Beau and I were horrified. I picked up Bart and Beauregard scooped up Bret, and we each carried a child back to their bedroom. I put Bart back in bed and sat with Bret while he read from the Bible for me. I heard Beau's voice more than once, loud and angry, and then silence. Then the front door closed, and that abhorrent woman was gone. I hope I never see her again as long as I live._

There was a knock on the door; it was Doc Staley. "Bret, I'm going home as soon as I finish some paperwork. Why don't you go get some supper and I'll sit with Bart while you're gone? Then I'll have a chance to give him one last check tonight. I want to see if we can wait until morning to make the decision. I'm just too worn out to do anything this evening."

"Did Sammy Jo tell you earlier? About him reacting to the gunshots?"

"Yes, she did. That's why I think tomorrow will be decision time for where I go digging for the bullet."

"What if you can't?"

"Can't look for it or can't locate it?"

"Either one."

Doc sighed loudly. "Then we wait."

"For what?"

It was apparent that the doctor didn't want to answer that question, but he did, at long last. "For him to die."


	12. Sunday Dinner

Chapter 12 – Sunday Dinner

"No. There's got to be somethin' you can do for him."

"I don't believe it will come to that, Bret. I really don't. But I'm not going to lie to you about it."

"Doc, about that supper – "

"Yes?"

"I'm not interested. I'd rather be here while you check on him."

Doc Staley sighed again. "That's my fault. I shouldn't have answered you."

"No, I'm glad you did. I needed to know."

"Alright, then let's take a look. " Staley began doing all sorts of things that Bret didn't understand but by this time had gotten used to, including checking Bart's pulse several times, and listening to his heartbeat. Doc finally stepped back and switched his attention to Bret. "I'm going in after it in the morning," he announced.

"Is that good or bad?" the gambler shot back.

"It's necessary."

"Then I'm stayin' here," Bret proclaimed.

"You're not doing him any good by not eating, you know."

A shake of the head. "Don't much care. I got no stomach for food. You want Pappy here in the mornin'?"

Doctor Staley thought for a minute before he answered. "I think it would be better for him if he wasn't. But it might be better for you and your brother. The decision's yours to make."

XXXXXXXX

It was a long night. Bret tried to sleep but quickly knew that sleep wasn't possible. He kept thinking about Bart jumping in front of him, to take Julie Maxwell's bullet instead of him, and he wrestled with the guilt over instinctively shooting back. The girl died as a result.

He went back through Isabelle's diary and read some early entries that Pappy had skipped before. Like this one from before Belle and Beau married:

 _August 1_ _st_ _– Another dinner with Beauregard, and then a lovely carriage ride around the city. I asked him about poker and he told me he has no interest in poker when he's around me. I hope he means it, I would be so happy if he weren't a gambler. I suppose that's too much to ask, given how long he's been making his way in the world with the game._

And this one:

 _August 12_ _th_ _\- I don't quite know what I am going to do. Beauregard is here every night and I'm more tempted all the time. I know he wants me in his bed, and he knows I won't go there without marriage. And Grace is like some sort of nosy Nellie, asking all kinds of questions that tell me she needs to find her own boy to dally with. Beauregard has a brother, but he's not in Baton Rouge, so that won't work._

 _Tonight he asked me which of the places we've been has been my favorite, and I told him Landy's. They have the most delicious crawfish gumbo I have ever tasted. Beauregard seems to be planning something and he won't tell me exactly what. I guess I'll just have to wait and see. Perhaps he's going to give up and ask me to be his bride? That would be extraordinary, considering how many women I'm sure he's known over the years, but still . . . . . ._

Momma had been dead for over twenty years, yet she seemed so close when he read her words. _'I wonder what we'd be if she hadn't . . . . . . if we'd still be gamblers. Or if we'd have done somethin' else, just to please her.'_

He laughed softly, envisioning all the wounds and battle scars that they probably wouldn't have. Unless they were cattle ranchers, the way they'd intended to be when they first came home after the war, then they'd probably be just as scarred up with a different kind of wound. Would either of them be married? With or without children? Or would they have ended up as lazy bums and drifters, without a way to make a living and avoid 'honest' work? Wait, isn't that what they were now?

 _'No,'_ Bret's mind replied, _'We're gamblers, born and bred, and that's the only thing we were ever meant to be.'_ As if to agree with and emphasize that fact, there was noise that sounded like a grunt from his brother. Bret looked over at the man lying on the bed and smiled. He wouldn't be alive if it weren't for Bart, in more ways than one. Without realizing what was happening, Bret fell asleep and dreamt of a different life . . . . . .

 _It was Sunday, and everyone was at Bret's house for Sunday dinner. It was a weekly ritual, and no excuses were made or accepted for not being there. Mary Alice had prepared a feast, as usual, and Bret watched his wife of many years as she kept everything running smoothly. They'd run off at seventeen to get married, but returned to the Maverick Ranch as soon as parenthood was thrust upon them. Beauregard and Barbara Jane were outside right now, with the rest of the children, working up an appetite. Bartholomew was there, too, as usual; he followed his older brother and sister everywhere._

 _Bart and his wife Jolene had come straight from church, as was their custom, and brought brand new baby Isabelle with them, as well as their oldest child, Bartley, known simply as Junior. Beau was just pulling up in the buggy outside; he and Hannah were running late. Momma and Pappy were out on the porch, Pappy with a cigar in his mouth and Momma knitting something for the new baby. Uncle Bentley sat with them, with he and Pappy discussing Bret's newest steer. Ben came scrambling out of his parents buggy and ran to join his cousins in the grass out by the corral._

 _Hannah brought the dessert, Isabelle's famous Texas Pecan Pie, and the women hugged and kissed as if they hadn't just seen each other in church an hour ago. Bret looked around at everyone and couldn't keep from smiling; the Mavericks had turned into quite a clan. Bret and Bart owned and ran the ranch together while Beau taught at the brand new school in Claytonville. And both grandfathers were in the process of teaching the next generation to play poker. And, as usual, an argument had broken out on the front porch. This one unexpectedly involved Momma_

 _"It's a card game, Beauregard. A card GAME. It isn't life or death."_

 _"You're right, Isabelle, it's more important than life or death. It's POKER."_

 _Barbara Jane came running inside to her father. "Daddy, Maw Maw and Paw Paw are arguin' again."_

 _Bret laughed. "Is it about poker, honey?"_

 _Barbara Jane's head nodded solemnly. "It's ALWAYS about poker, Daddy."_

 _"I wouldn't worry about it, baby. They'll work it out, they always do."_

 _Bart looked over at his brother. "Don't they ever get tired of it?"_

 _Bret laughed again. "I guess not, Brother Bart. Good thing we didn't grow up to be gamblers. We'd a never heard the end of it."_

 _Bart joined him in laughter. "Ain't that the truth?" He looked away for a moment, outside to where the children were playing, then turned back to his brother. "Bret . . . . . . . Bret . . . . . . . . "_

He wasn't imagining things. He'd heard it, whispered softly but clear as day. "Bret . . . . . . . . "

He sat up straight in the chair he'd fallen asleep in and shook his head to clear it, before hearing it again. "Bret . . . . . . . "

Where was it coming from? Once more he heard the whispered entreaty, "Bret . . . . . . . ." and finally looked down at his brother. Bart's eyes were open, for the first time since he took the bullet meant for his brother. "Bret . . . . . . . "


	13. One More Time

Chapter 13 – One More Time

"Bart, are you really awake?"

One very slow blink from the man on the bed was followed by a soft, "Yeah."

"Now. Why now?"

"What?" A barely audible whisper.

"Doc's gonna – never mind. How do you feel?"

"Hard . . . . . . . . . breathe."

Bret pulled out his watch, quickly. It was almost four o'clock in the morning. Doc Staley wouldn't be here for another two or three hours. "You still got Julie's bullet inside."

"Julie's . . . . . . . ?"

"Yeah, I said Julie's bullet. She's the one tried to kill me. You jumped in frontta me, ya damn fool. And thanks, in case you haven't heard it before."

"Julie?"

"She's gone, Bart. They're all dead."

"How . . . . . . . .why?"

"Quit tryin' to talk, would ya? They wouldn't surrender. They just kept shootin'."

"An . . . . . Julie?"

"Picked up her brother's gun an shot you."

"And?"

"And you need to rest. Doc's gonna get the bullet out tomorrow."

"How . . . . . long?"

"She shot you Thursday. It's Sunday mornin'."

"Pap . . . . . Pappy."

"He's here, Bart. So's Uncle Ben. I told them everything."

"Every . . . . . . thing?"

"Everything, son. Pappy said he was proud of ya. Proud of us. He even talked to Jack Templeton. Told Jack the same thing. Now please, close your eyes and sleep."

"So . . . . . . tired."

"Course you are. Go to sleep."

"Bret."

"Yes, Bart?"

"Love . . . . . love . . . . . "

"I know. I love you, too."

XXXXXXXX

Bret sat in one of the chairs the rest of the night and watched his brother's chest rise and fall. He thought about everything they'd been through – from his very first memory of the new baby until the moment Bart jumped in front of him and took Julie Maxwell's bullet. There was just a little more to be read from Momma's diary but Bret couldn't bring himself to read it, preferring to wait for the rest until he knew for sure that Bart could hear him.

Somewhere after dawn he heard the front door open and close, and assumed that Doc Staley was there. The doctor soon came through the door to Bart's room, carrying a cup of coffee that he handed to Bret. "I thought you might need this."

"Thanks, Doc. He woke up last night – this mornin', I mean. He even talked to me."

"He knew who you were? What did he say?"

"Said it was hard to breathe. Other things, too." Bret then repeated everything that he could remember from his conversation with his brother. Bret drank the coffee Staley brought him while the doctor stood next to Bart and deliberated.

"Alright, I need you to get out of here while I check a few things. Go get some food. Get your father. There's some possibilities I need to investigate before I make a final decision. Go on, I'm not going to start anything before you get back. Besides, if I have to operate it won't be before Sammy Jo gets here, and she arrives at eight."

"You sure I shouldn't stay?"

"I'm sure. Now go on."

"Thanks for the coffee, Doc." Bret took the cup with him and set it down in the front office, then left and headed for the hotel. He went to his and Bart's room. It was empty. Wherever Pappy was, it wasn't here. He shaved and washed up, changing into clean clothes, then went to Pappy and Ben's room. There was no one there, either, so he went down to the dining room. He found them seated in the far corner, just ordering breakfast, and he pulled up a chair and sat down. "Bacon, eggs, toast and coffee," he requested of the waitress, who hurried off to bring back the coffee pot.

"Looked for ya upstairs."

"Your father threatened to go get a drink if I didn't go to the doctor's office with him, but I convinced him to eat somethin' first," Ben explained.

"Bart woke up," Bret pronounced after he got his coffee.

"When? Why didn't you come get me?" Pappy pleaded.

"Just for a few minutes," Bret replied. "Around four o'clock. He was talkin', but he was havin' trouble breathin'. Doc says if he operates it'll be after eight when Sammy Jo comes in. Sent me to get you and food."

"Any chance he'll be awake before then?" Pappy asked.

"Don't know," Bret replied. "For his sake, I hope not."

Pappy placed his hand on his oldest son's arm. "I wanna tell him - "

"That you're proud of him an you love him?"

Pappy's eyes smiled, even if he didn't. "Yeah."

Bret studied his father carefully. "I told him, Pappy. I told him."

Food came, and the three men ate in silence. When they were done, Bret paid for breakfast and helped Pappy get up. "How's your arm this mornin'?"

"Better. Some. I'll live through it. Forgot how much the damn things hurt, though. Let's go, it's almost eight o'clock."

They hurried out of the hotel and down to Doc Staley's office. Sammy Jo was just entering the offices and Bret held the door for her. "The whole family, huh?" she asked.

"Doc may operate this mornin'."

"I'll go back and see," Sammy told them, and went through the door to the exam room. In a few minutes she returned. "Bret, Doc wants to see you back there."

"I'm comin', too," Pappy announced, and followed Bret.

"Bret, Beauregard, I'm going to operate. From what Bart told you earlier, Bret, and what I can detect, I've got a pretty good idea of where the bullet is. It's time to get it out before it scoots away from us. Bret, I need you to help me carry him into the other room as soon as I get it set up. This procedure could take a while, so I want you to be expecting that. And if you're praying men, start praying."

Bret nodded as Pappy grabbed Doc Staley's arm. No words were spoken; none were necessary. The doctor could read everything in the father's eyes. He patted Beau's hand with his own. "I'll do my very best, Beauregard, to bring him back to you."

"That's all I can ask, Doc," Pappy replied, firm and clear.

"Let me know when you're ready, Doc," Bret offered, and the doctor nodded. The gamblers, father and son, walked back to the front office to wait, knowing just how much they were gambling on the physician's ability. "One more time," Bret murmured as he followed his father. "Please, God. One more time."


	14. Thinkin' Out Loud

Chapter 14 – Thinkin' Out Loud

They sat for what seemed like days, in Doc Staley's front office. Bret paced, then Ben paced, then Pappy couldn't stay in his chair but got up and stared out the front window. Templeton came by to see how things were progressing; even Buckley displayed the rare quality of concern for someone else and stopped in.

Finally, Bret could stand being confined to such a small space no longer and walked outside. Today was considerably cooler than it had been on Friday, and there was a soft breeze blowing across the open spaces. He lit a cigar and smoked it down to the nub, and out of nervous habit lit and smoked a second. Eventually the office door opened and Beauregard stepped out to join him. Bret looked up and smiled. "You couldn't stand it either, huh Pappy?"

Beau shook his head. "I was never much good at waitin'. If your mother was still here she could tell ya that." He pulled out his own cigar and his firstborn son lit it for him. "I remember when you two was born. I did everything I could to get through it. At least I had you with me when your brother come into the world."

"Can't tell ya how many times I've waited for him through one thing or another. I got no room to complain – he waited for weeks in Dodge City believin' I was dead an buried."

Pappy looked up at his son, a slight smile on his face. "That's one neither one of ya told me about."

"Kind of afraid to."

"No reason for that – you're here with me now, so it all worked out."

"Yeah, but – I promise, soon as Bart's back on his feet, we'll tell ya the story. But you gotta guarantee me no yellin' at either one of us."

"Son, right now I just wanna have both of ya to yell at."

The office door opened again and Ben stuck his head out. "Is this private or can I come out, too?"

Bret grinned. Trust Uncle Ben to make him smile. "Come on out, Uncle Ben. It'd be kinda rude if I told the man that saved my life no, wouldn't it?"

"You makin' it a habit, boy, of tryin' to get killed?"

"No, Pappy, not really. It's just, well . . . . . . "

"I know, neither one of ya can help yourselves." Beauregard turned to his brother. "Ben, where did I go wrong?"

Ben shook his head. "I don't know, Beau. There's somethin' wrong with all of 'em, far as I can tell. Maybe it's their momma's fault."

"There's an idea," Beau responded. "We can blame Belle and Abby. They ain't here to defend themselves."

Ben started to say something but the appearance of Sammy Jo interrupted him. She looked at Bret, then Beauregard, then Bentley. And then she grinned, like a child at Christmas. "Doc's almost done, gentlemen. Y'all need to come on back in."

"Did he get it?" Bret was the first to ask.

"Would I be grinnin' like this if he hadn't?" Sammy asked slyly. Her answer prompted all three Mavericks to follow her back inside the office. In just a few minutes Doctor Staley appeared. While not quite as happy looking as Sammy Jo, he seemed pleased.

He looked straight at Beauregard when he announced, "Good thing that boy of yours is tough."

"You got the bullet?" Pappy questioned.

"Yes, and it led me on a merry chase. But it's out."

"How is he?" Ben asked next.

"About as good as he could be, considering how long it was in there."

"When can we see him?" was Bret's question.

"In just a few minutes. I want to get him cleaned up, and we're going leave him in the exam room for a while. Later I'll need your help, Bret, to move him back to his room."

"Is he awake?"

"No, not yet, thank goodness. He's going to be in some pain, and I know about the aspirin allergy. He'll have to take laudanum if the pain gets too bad, either that or morphine. I'll send Sammy back out when you can come in," and the doctor went back to his patient.

Bret collapsed into one of the chairs and exhaled slowly. "Thank you," he murmured under his breath. Beauregard finally allowed himself to get emotional and hugged his brother. Ben patted his back and whispered something in his ear, and Pappy nodded and smiled. "What?" Bret asked. "What did you say?"

His uncle looked down at him. 'Straight flush," he repeated.

XXXXXXXX

When Sammy Jo came back out to get them, Bret sent his father in first. "Give him a few minutes, Ben," he told his uncle, and Ben nodded and stayed seated. It wasn't long before Beauregard re-opened the door to the 'operating room' and stuck his head out.

"Come on in, you two. He's sort of awake."

The remaining two Mavericks rushed in. Bart's eyes were opened as tiny slits, but he reached up a hand to hold onto his brother's when he saw Bret. "Hey," was about all he could manage, but it was enough to please every man in the room.

"How ya doin', little brother?"

"Been . . . . . better."

"It's out, son. Now you gotta get well," Bret implored.

"Do . . . my . . . . best."

"You know Ben's here, don't ya?"

"Sure," Bart replied, and Bret laughed at the joke.

"You need anything?"

"No." As he said this, Bart's eyes closed and it appeared that he was soon asleep again.

Bret gestured towards the door and the three men made their way back out into the front office, where they found Jack Templeton waiting for them. "Good news, I understand?" he asked

"So far," Bret answered.

"Mr. Maverick, I've got that report on your shooting prepared, have you got time now to come down and sign it for me?"

"I do," Beau answered. "Let's go, Ranger."

Bret and Ben watched the two unlikely companions leave and head down the street. "I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it," the younger gambler remarked.

"He's changed some," his uncle replied. "It was a real wake-up call when he had pneumonia, Bret. He hasn't been quite the same since then. Even Lily Mae smiles now when he comes into the room. Never thought I'd see that day."

"It took long enough, don't ya think?"

"Isabelle'd be real happy. Ya know?"

"I'm sure Momma would. How about you, Ben? How are you doin', livin' with what used to be the world's grumpiest man?"

"It's alright most of the time. His change in attitude's helped a whole lot. He misses you an your brother. Lately he's been talkin' about movin' over to the Louisiana side, takin' up with Lady Gida again. He's lonely, Bret, and it ain't for lack of company. Your momma's been gone a long time, and he can't sweet talk Lily Mae like he can some a those young 'uns. I been tryin' to get him to go visit before he up and moves, but he ain't listenin' to me. Hell, if he goes I might as well go too. I ain't livin' in Texas all by myself."

This was the first Bret had heard about his father's 'discontent.' Surprisingly, he felt melancholy at the thought of leaving Texas forever. "How serious is he, Ben?"

"I don't know. Some days he sounds like he's ready to pack up an go, some days it sounds like he's never leavin' Little Bend. Maybe he's just gettin' old."

"I think that ships sailed, Uncle. Pappy's been old since the day Momma died. No gettin' around that." Bret pondered what he was going to say to Ben for a minute or two before he said it out loud. "He ever decides he's leavin' for real, you find me. Who knows, I might be ready to come back and settle down by then."

"No Althea Taylor for you to come back to."

"Lots more fine-lookin' women in Little Bend. "

Ben took a good, long look at his oldest nephew. "You feelin' alright, boy?"

"Thinkin' out loud, Uncle. Just thinkin' out loud."

Bret himself wondered – _'Was I?'_


	15. Dreams and Realities

Chapter 15 – Dreams and Realities

He hadn't had the dream for a long time, but the bullet in the chest brought it all back to him. Time had altered it slightly, and the people involved were less specific than they had been when it actually happened.

 _The man fixed his gaze steadily on Bart, standing on the staircase. "I ain't tellin' you again. Get down here."_

 _Bart took a step down, then another, and the man with the guns relaxed slightly. At that moment, the front door swung open and a woman stood clearly in the sunlight. The gunslinger whirled around and fired. Bart let out a long yell "NO!" and grabbed for his gun as the woman dropped to the floor. He struck the man with the first two bullets and missed with the third. Before the gunman fell he got off a shot that hit Bart square in the chest. The impact pushed him backwards for a moment. Just as he reached the bottom of the staircase, Bart shot once more and the man dropped, dead._

 _Bart staggered to the woman's side, gravely wounded himself. He picked her up in his arms, gently. She smiled with her eyes closed and whispered: "Get him?"_

 _"Yep." Bart could scarcely get the word out. He kissed her tenderly on the lips and rocked her soundlessly. She was dying and he knew it; he realized that he was, too. "Bart." Her voice was barely a whisper. He had to lean close to her mouth to hear her. "I love you." She lay still in his arms._

 _He put his lips next to her ear. It was too late for her to hear him, but he didn't care. "I love you too." With a great sigh and one last breath, he slumped across her body and joined her in death._

The dream jolted him awake and he quickly became aware of the pain in his chest and lungs. He was disoriented at first, not sure of where he was, and then he remembered – another doctor's office, another life-threatening injury. Bret. He'd taken a bullet for Bret. Probably not the first time, possibly not the last. He had no conception of time and didn't know how long it had been since the fiasco that the Rangers raid had turned into – wait, maybe he did. Bret said Julie shot him – Julie shot him? – on Thursday, and this was Sunday. But that was when he woke up before – before what? Before the doctor had gone digging around his insides for her bullet. When was that? This morning, yesterday morning, ten minutes ago?

He finally opened his eyes, but it was almost dark in the room and there was no one in his line of sight. He drew a breath and his lungs burned. Where was everyone? Wait, who had been here? Bret, and Pappy, and Uncle Ben. And Momma. Momma had been here. No, Momma couldn't be here. Momma had been dead since he was five years old. But Momma was here; he'd heard Pappy, then Bret, reading her words to him. Had that all been a dream, like the faceless man and woman that had jolted him awake? He tried to sigh and again, the breath caught in his throat and burned as he exhaled. That's when he heard the noise.

It was minutes before he could identify the sound. Slowly it came to him, and he realized he knew that sound. He'd listened to it for most of his life. It was his brother, snoring. So he wasn't entirely alone; Bret was there. He was either sleeping on the floor or had made a bed of chairs, the way each one of them had done too many times to count. Even though it still hurt, he breathed a little easier. That probably meant his father and uncle were back at the hotel. It was either very late at night or very early in the morning, he couldn't tell which.

He wanted to roll over and lie on his side, but as soon as he tried to move the pain started up again and he quickly discarded the idea. He'd lay still, for now at least. Maybe Bret could help him turn over in the morning. Morning. For the first time he thought about food, and his stomach growled, loudly. If this was now Monday morning, he hadn't eaten since Thursday. Best to not even think about it, because he certainly wasn't going to get any food at this time of the day. Or night. He tried to swallow and his mouth was dry. Water. That required help.

"Bret," he whispered, and got no answer. He tried again. "Bret." No use, he couldn't speak loud enough to be heard. Then, without warning, a response.

"Bart?"

"Yeah," he answered. As loud as he could. The sound barely made it louder than a whisper, but it was loud enough for his brother.

Suddenly that familiar visage appeared. "You're awake. You need somethin'?"

"Water," he managed to whisper and Bret moved out of his sight. It was some few minutes before he reappeared, this time holding a glass of water.

"Okay, I'm gonna raise your head some. Ready?" Before he could answer he felt Bret's hand slip under his head and lift and tilt him forward slightly. Then the glass was there, and he swallowed the water that made its way past his lips. God, had anything ever tasted so good? He drank until he couldn't breathe anymore. And then managed to take another two swallows. Bret pulled the glass back, sensing that his brother had temporarily reached full capacity. "Better?"

"Yeah," he whispered, before the coughing racked his lungs. That hurt worse than breathing; it was a deep, throbbing pain that reached down into his insides and ripped its way out of his throat.

"You alright?"

"Starving," he managed. There was a slight chuckle from his brother, followed quickly by an apology.

"Sorry, never thought I'd hear that word out of you. It's almost five o'clock, son. You think you can hang on until the Doc gets here and he gives the go-ahead for you to eat?"

"No . . . . . choice."

Bret chuckled again. "That's true. I just don't wanna do somethin' that might not be right. You good with that?"

"Sure."

"Bart . . . . . . did you hear us? Me an Pappy, I mean, when we were readin' Momma's diary to ya?"

"Some."

"How about when we just talked to ya?"

"Some."

"Do you remember me tellin' ya about Pappy bein' proud of us, an sayin' it out loud?"

"He . . . . .. . did?"

"Yeah, he did. He even told Templeton. Buckley was here. Twice. Well, three times if you count the time he came with Slade's gun in his back. I woulda sworn Buckley didn't have a bone in his body that cared about anybody else in this world, but he seemed awful concerned about you."

"Slade?"

"Oh, ya caught that, did ya? Slade's dead."

"You?"

"Nope. Uncle Ben."

"Ben?"

"Yep, Uncle Ben. Still carries his derringer. Got Tommy before he could shoot me."

"Quit . . . bein' . . . . target."

"Yeah, I'd be happy to quit bein' a target. Look, why don't you try goin' back to sleep till Doc gets here? I'll get ya up when he gives the okay on food. I swear."

Bart didn't have enough strength to explain why he didn't want to go back to sleep. The dream might come back. Right now he couldn't remember who the dream was about, he just knew that some version of it had actually happened to him, and he didn't want to go through it all again. So he just laid there with his eyes closed; eventually he heard Bret sit down. And without even knowing it, he drifted back off to sleep. This time without any dreams.


	16. Buckley and Eggs

Chapter 16 – Buckley and Eggs

"That's a hopeful sign," Doc Staley told Bret when he asked about giving Bart food. "Stick with scrambled eggs, or porridge. And don't give him any more than he can handle. There is no right amount for him to eat."

"He's gonna ask about coffee, Doc."

Staley shook his head. "Absolutely not. Not until he gets some food in him. I'm going in to see him. If he asks about it, I'll tell him no."

"I'm going to Tiny's to get some scrambled eggs for him. Tell him I'll be right back."

Bret got to Tiny's and found Jim Buckley there, eating breakfast and looking forlorn. "What's the matter, Buckley?" Bret asked as he sat down at Buckley's table to wait for the eggs.

"Besides everything, you mean?"

"What does everything encompass?" Why he was talking to the man he wasn't sure, but it was a way to pass the time.

"I couldn't win at the poker game, you hate me, and my best friend is going to die."

"Who's going to die?" Bret couldn't resist asking.

"Why Bart, of course!" Buckley exclaimed.

"Bart's not gonna die. Doc got the bullet out."

"He did? When did that happen?"

"Yesterday morning. But I thought Bart was still upset with you over the poker game in Cheyenne?"

"No, no, no. We're all over that."

Curiosity got the better of Bret. "Oh? How'd that happen?"

"He forgave the transgression when I played along with that little farce here."

"What little farce?" Somehow the gambler knew he was going to regret asking the question.

Buckley seemed to be oblivious. "That whole charade with the Texas Republic people. You know, that whole thing you were involved in."

"And what exactly did you do for him?"

"Well, of course I played right along with the plans he had to protect you from the group. Pretended I couldn't get the weapons and everything. Acted like you and he were the Radson Brothers, preposterous as that sounds. What, he didn't tell you? Oh dear."

So Buckley hadn't been working with the Rangers at all. He was paying off a debt to Bart, and doing everything Bart asked to bring the whole episode to a peaceful conclusion. He should have known; there always had to be something in it for Buckley to persuade him to do the right thing.

"I don't hate you, Jim." Bart was going to recover; Bret was feeling magnanimous.

"You don't? To what should I attribute that confession?"

Bret just laughed as the waitress brought over the eggs for Bart. "Shut up before I change my mind, Buckley."

XXXXXXXX

While Bret was retrieving food, Sammy Jo had brought in extra pillows for Bart in preparation for actual eating. The recovering gambler felt as if he was truly alive for the first time in five days; in pain but able to see the world from somewhere other than flat on his back. His eyes grew big when he saw Bret come in with a plate; it didn't matter what it was, it was food and it was for him!

"Wanna try to feed yourself or not?" Bret asked.

"Sure," Bart answered, seeing no reason why he couldn't. He managed to get two or three bites of the egg before he had to give up and turn it over to his brother. "Exhaust . . . . . exhaust . . . . . tired," he explained, and Bret chuckled and took the fork. Three more bites with his brother's assistance and he was done. "Full," he pronounced.

"You certain?" Bart nodded and Bret didn't hesitate; he finished the eggs off in three final bites. "Didn't eat," he explained sheepishly to his brother. "Ran into Buckley at Tiny's. He told me about your forgivin' him for Cheyenne."

Bart attempted a smile. "Oh."

"You had my back without tellin' me."

"Sure."

"I'm just supposed to go along with that, huh?"

"Yeah."

The door practically burst open and Beauregard and Bentley tumbled inside, in the midst of a heated discussion. "I'm tellin' ya she did."

Bentley responded, "And I'm tellin' ya she didn't."

Whether she did or didn't, all discussion stopped when Beau saw that not only were Bart's eyes open, he was almost sitting up on the bed. "Bartley, you're awake!" He saw the empty plate and was delighted. "You ate something!"

"Not much, but some," Bret relayed.

"That's a good sign," Ben remarked.

"Yes, it is," Doc Staley added as he too entered the room. Thank God he and Bret had moved Bart back to his original 'room' last night, or everyone wouldn't have fit into the smaller exam space. "Now I want you to start drinking water, understand?"

"Sure," came Bart's standard answer.

"Let's start with this one," Bret said as he moved to Bart's side with a full glass.

Bart drank most of it, and the Doctor was temporarily satisfied. "How's the pain this morning?"

"It . . . hurts."

"Now that you've got some food in your stomach, I'd like you to take some of this laudanum."

"Rather . . . . not."

"I'd rather you did," the doctor answered him. "You're having too much trouble talking, and it's because it hurts too much to draw breath, doesn't it?"

The man in the bed was quiet. Bret finally said, "Bart, answer the man."

Bart tried to suck in a breath and started coughing instead. Bret looked at the doctor. "Answer enough for ya?"

"Bart, please. Just a swallow."

Reluctantly, Bart took the small amount the doctor offered him. He didn't like what the liquid did to him, but every time he took a breath it hurt. Almost immediately the discomfort in his lungs eased, and it was easier to breathe. And to talk.

"Any better?" Doc Staley asked.

"Yeah. Some."

"Alright, that's enough for this morning. You need rest. Five minutes, everyone. Then you all need to leave."

"But – "

"I can't – "

"We haven't – "

"No arguing. Bart needs rest now. Five minutes."

The doctor left and the Mavericks looked at each other. "When he lets us back in, I'll finish readin' you Momma's diary. There's not much left," his father told him.

"Didn't hear all of it."

"You can read it when you're recuperating. You're not goin' anywhere for a while, boy."

"I suppose."

Bret almost laughed. "I can guarantee it. From personal experience."

"You . . . . . . would know," his brother replied.

Ben reached over and patted his youngest nephew on the arm. "Just get well."

Bart nodded. "Bret . . . . . "

His brother turned back towards him. "Yeah, son."

"Buckley."

"Don't tell me you want to see him?"

"Yeah."

"Why, Bart? He's a pain in the - "

"Friend."

"How can you be friends with him? He's – "

"Bret."

"Alright. But not just yet. Not till you're better."

"Sure."

Bret left then and walked straight to Doctor Staley's office. He knocked and heard "Come in" and did just that. "Is there something wrong, Bret?"

"That's what I came to ask you, Doc. Now that you got the bullet out, what are his chances?" Bret sat down in the chair next to Doc's desk.

"They're – "

Bret put up his hand. "Stop, Doc, before ya tell me what ya think I wanna hear. He's been real lucky so far and hasn't picked up an infection. What about now?"

"I can't give you any guarantees, Bret. I've had a lot of success with gunshot wounds. Haven't lost too many. All we can do is keep a close eye on things and hope. I didn't see any signs of anything wrong when I was in there. He's real important to you, isn't he?"

Bret looked down at the floor. "Things weren't always so good with Pappy. I practically raised Bart myself. So, yeah. He's like a part a me. If somethin' were to happen to him . . . . . . "

"Then we'll just have to make sure nothing does."


	17. Goin' Home

Chapter 17 – Goin' Home

For once Bart did as the doctor requested and took the small doses of laudanum that were provided. Slowly it became easier to breathe without pain. His appetite returned and all three Maverick men were happy to see him eat ever-increasing amounts. On Wednesday Doc Staley finally let Bart have some coffee in small doses, and he was a happy man.

That afternoon Bret told Dandy Jim that Bart wanted to see him, and Buckley followed the older brother back to Doctor Staley's office. "Don't upset him, Jim," was Bret's final missive before he went back to the hotel. Buckley nodded and gathered himself to spend time with the man he claimed as his 'best friend.'

"Bart, old boy, how are you?"

"Dandy, come in. I'm not contagious." Bart was propped up with several pillows, just on the verge of napping, and was glad to see Buckley.

"I say, you don't look half bad for being . . . . . . "

"On death's door?" Bart finished for him.

"Well . . . . . I'm not so sure I'd put it that way."

"Yeah, you would. Bret said he saw you at Tiny's. I'm surprised you're still in town. Poker game over?"

Dandy nodded. "For me, at least. I played rather like a novice, I'm afraid. Too many distractions."

"Such as?"

"Jack Templeton, What's-his-name Slade, and . . . . . . "

"And what?"

"You. Here."

"Me?"

"The thought of you dying . . . . . . . and me without a friend left in the world. Except, of course, Miriam. And Francine. And Julia. And - "

Bart tried to laugh, which ended up in a coughing fit. Finally he gasped out, "Alright, Buckley. I get the idea."

"I'd miss you, old chap."

"I'd miss me, too. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

"No, really, where are you going from here?"

"I don't know, Dandy. I wasn't plannin' on bein' laid up for this long."

"Well, if you're interested, Francine has a little plantation, or what used to be a plantation, down in Lafayette. She'd be happy to have both of us. For as long as we could stand it." Dandy had brightened considerably as he said this.

"I appreciate it, Jim, I really do. But I've spent enough time in the South for a while. I may go see Anderson in Carson City. Or Declan an Jenny in Reno. I just don't know."

Buckley stood up from the chair he'd sat on. "Well, old boy, if you change your mind, you know how to find me. I'll be leaving tomorrow. No more running in front of bullets for your brother, eh?"

Bart raised his right hand. "I promise, Jim. And thanks for everything." He watched Buckley leave and sighed. Dandy Jim was a complicated soul, even if he didn't appear to be. It might take a little persuading – alright, it might take a LOT of persuading – but for his real friends he was willing to do whatever was necessary. Bart felt sure he was in that group, and he was content.

XXXXXXXX

Pappy told Bret and Bart he had one more set of entries in Momma's diary to read them, and they were all in Bart's room on Thursday morning. It didn't take him long to begin.

 _May 15_ _th_ _– I went to visit Mamie Barton today, since she's been sick for over two weeks. Bart insisted that he had to come with me, because he is beginning school in September and our days spent together are growing short. I will miss having my baby with me – it's been a luxury I've thoroughly enjoyed. I can't believe that Bret is already seven years old – such a little man. And it's a gentleman we're raising, he's so polite and kind. He says he misses having his brother with him and looks forward to the two of them attending school together. Oh, why can't they stay momma's boys forever?_

 _June 3_ _rd_ _– Of course, Bart and I both caught whatever Mamie had. He seems to have shaken his off, thank God, but mine is taking longer and doesn't appear to want to let go. I have to get better soon, the boys will starve to death if they have to depend on Beauregard for their meals._

 _June 24_ _th_ _– This thing, whatever it is, just will not let go of me. There have been times in the last three weeks when I can't even get out of bed during the day. I'm sure my poor house is a disaster, but right now I don't care. Beauregard sent for Doctor Jennings; he'll be here in the morning. I'm sure he'll have something to fix me right up._

 _July 12_ _th_ _– This is the first time in weeks I have felt well enough to write. My darling boys spend most of their free time at Bentley's house; I don't want them exposed to whatever this is any more than necessary. I do not have a good feeling about this illness. There's something strange in Doctor Jennings eyes whenever he comes to see me, and I suspect I know what it means. I hope I'm wrong._

 _But just in case I'm not – my boys, my little angels, never forget how much your momma loves you. You will be in my heart, and I in yours, forever. You and your father are my life, and it has been the best life possible. No woman could ask for more._

Pappy closed the book. Bret could see the tears in his eyes; Bart was once again lying flat in bed and could only hear them in his voice. "That's the last entry. There were some pages torn out after that – I've always had the feelin' she wrote more when she was sick and decided not to leave it for us.

"You two were her life. She was so happy bein' your momma – specially after we lost Elizabeth. There never has been; there never will be a woman that can measure up to her. Doesn't matter who's in my house, or in my bed – nobody but Isabelle Grayson Maverick will ever be in my heart."

Pappy got up from his seat and handed the diary to Bret, then picked up his cane and made his way out of the room. His boys remained quiet and still for several minutes, deeply immersed in thoughts of the mother they'd lost when they were both so young. Finally Bret broke the silence.

"Ben says Pappy's been talkin' about movin' to Louisiana, takin' up with Gida again. Says he's lonely an misses us. You know it's gonna be weeks, maybe months, fore you feel like ridin' off somewhere. Whatta ya say we head back to Little Bend for a while?"

Bart didn't answer immediately and Bret wondered if his brother was going to refuse. But there was no refusal – Bart just said, "Alright," and nothing more.

"You have to go somewhere. It's gonna take a while for you to get over this."

"I know."

"But?"

"How do you feel about that? Back to where Althea and Simon are?"

Bret laughed, a sad little sound. "Gotta go back there sometime. Give us both a chance to . . . . . "

"To what?"

"I don't know, Brother Bart, but you DO hafta go somewhere. Might as well be home. Besides, Althea's my past. Who knows what's in our future?"

"There are some fine lookin' ladies in Little Bend."

A happier laugh this time from Bret. "Doralice Donovan?"

"Mmmhmm. Among others. Why not?"

"I don't know, Bart. Why not?"

The End


End file.
